"Then be generous and try to forgive me!"
By this time we had reached a little wood where flowed a stream, its murmurous waters brimful of sunset glory; and here, as by common consent, we paused a while to look down at this reflected splendour, and when at last she spoke, her voice was gentle, almost pleading.
"The duck was—only a duck, Peregrine."
"Yes!" said I.
"And we were hungry—you know you were?"
"Very hungry, Diana."
"And the—the three guineas as I—finds in—that beast's pocket did us more good than it could ha' done him?"
"True, Diana."
"And I only took it because it—it was there to take—and might be useful. But now we—we don't need it any more—I don't, so—there it goes!" And with a sudden gesture she cast into the brook a handful of coins, among which I caught the sheen of gold and silver. "But I—I ain't a thief—I'm not!" she cried passionately. "I never stole anything all my days; I—I only—prig—" Here, acting on sudden impulse, I caught her hand to my lips.
"O Diana," said I, "dear child, it is in my mind you will never prig again, either—"