Sarah refused to reply. She had no intention of resuming friendly intercourse so soon after the painful episode of the morning.
"He needn't think he can boss me," she scolded, sitting down by the brook to take off her shoes and stockings. "Ow, the water's cold!"
Like a great many older people, Sarah preferred to think a long time before she committed herself to an icy flood. She tucked her feet under her comfortably and gave herself up to thought.
In the grass beside her a hundred busy little ants ran to and fro and Sarah's speculations led her to wonder whether they had ever made a trip by water.
"I'll build them a little boat," she planned, "and give them a little ride."
Actuated by the kindest of motives, she fashioned a rude sort of ferry boat from a leaf and then spent twenty minutes catching passengers for it. In her energy and haste she squashed several of the little creatures and alas, when she finally sent a dizzy half dozen on their voyage the leaf capsized and the passengers were drowned. This effectually discouraged Sarah and she turned again to the prospect of wading.
The water was so cold that the soft green grass seemed more inviting and Sarah began to walk along the brook's edge, wincing a little now and then as her foot struck a sharp stone. Then, without warning, she stepped into a hole and sharp, darting tongues of fire attacked her ankles.
"Yellow jackets! Wasps! Bees!" shrieked the unfortunate child, flinging her shoes into the brook and her stockings clear on the other side as she started to run. "Get away—leave me alone!"
She had stepped into a nest of yellow jackets and stirred up great wrath. Her feet and ankles suffered the most stings, though one furious insect lighted on her elbow and another on her wrist while a third punctured her cheek. Running madly and crying with pain, Sarah finally succeeded in distancing the yellow jackets, but her shoes and stockings, as far as she was concerned, were a total loss. Nothing, she was positive, would induce her to go back and get them.
She limped sadly to the orchard and climbed her favorite wide-branching apple tree, to take count of her injuries. Angry, white puffy swellings showed where each sting had exacted toll.