"Oh! I won't; I won't; indeed I won't," said Nell.
"Honest Indian?" said Rob.
"Honest Indian," said Nelly.
This was the strongest form of pledge which Rob and Nelly ever gave. It was like a sort of oath among the children in Mayfield. If a child broke his promise after he had said "Honest Indian," there was nothing too bad for him.
"Well," said Rob, coming very close to Nelly, and speaking in a low whisper, "it was those people's string of onions!"
"Why, Rob!" cried Nelly, in a horrified tone, "why, Rob! that's stealing. How could you?"
"'Tain't stealing either, Nell March," said Rob, stoutly; "I haven't got 'em. Stealing is taking things. I haven't got them. I didn't want the old, horrid things. I just threw them away. That ain't taking."
Nelly still looked distressed. "Papa wouldn't like it," she said, "nor mamma either. They were all those people had to eat, except bread and cheese. Oh, Rob! I think it was awful mean in you."
"I don't care: I wish I hadn't told you. I don't think it was mean. It was good enough for them for making such a smell in the cars. I heard some of the gentlemen saying they hadn't any business with onions in the car,—that the conductor ought to make them throw them away. Anyhow, Nell, you promised not to tell."
"Yes," said Nell, "but I never once thought of its being such a thing as this. What do you suppose they'll do? They might have you took up and put in prison, Rob."