"I wasn't. I was on the back of a big, horrid man, who gave great jumps down the side of an awful mountain, all sand and things, and threw me down at the bottom of it, and—and—disarranged all my hair. And I was so frightened that I couldn't even cur—cur—cry."
Here Minnie sobbed afresh, and Mrs. Willoughby petted her again.
"And you shouldn't tease me so; and it's very unkind in you; and you know I'm not well; and I can't bear to think about it all; and I know you're going to scold me; and you're always scolding me; and you never do what I want you to. And then people are always coming and saving my life, and I can't bear it any more."
"No-o-o-o-o-o, n-n-no-o-o-o, darling!" said Mrs. Willoughby, soothingly, in the tone of a nurse appeasing a fretful child. "You sha'n't bear it any more."
"I don't want them to save me any more."
"Well, they sha'n't do it, then," said Mrs. Willoughby, affectionately, in a somewhat maudlin tone.
"And the next time I lose my life, I don't want to be saved. I want them to let me alone, and I'll come home myself."
"And so you shall, darling; you shall do just as you please. So, now, cheer up; don't cry;" and Mrs. Willoughby tried to wipe Minnie's eyes.
"But you're treating me just like a baby, and I don't want to be talked to so," said Minnie, fretfully.
Mrs. Willoughby retreated with a look of despair.