“What are you up to now?” he asked.
She gave a fierce little laugh. “There!” she cried. “I have done it!”
“What have you done?” he enquired, emitting a puff of smoke, and throwing the lighted match into the hedge.
She pressed her hands against the stone and looked up at him mischievously and triumphantly. “Look!” she said, holding out her fingers in the darkness. He surveyed her closely. “What is it? Have you scratched yourself?”
“Light a match and see!” she cried. He lit a match and examined the hand she held towards him.
“You have thrown away that ring!”
“Not thrown it away, Luke; not thrown it away! I have pressed it down into this hole. You can’t get it out now! Nobody never can!”
He held the flickering match closely against the stone’s surface. In the narrow darkness of the aperture she indicated, something bright glittered.
“But this is really annoying of you, Annie,” said the stone-carver. “I told you that ring was only lent to me. She’ll be asking for it back tomorrow.”
“Well, you can tell her to come here and get it!”