“Look,” she said; “stoop and look.”
In the palm of Pen’s hand lay the thimble.
“Take it,” said Pen. “I comed with it to make mischief, but I won’t never tell now—never. Take it. Put it in your pocket. I am sorry I was so bad. Take it.”
Pauline did take the little gold thimble. She slipped it into her pocket; then she stooped and kissed Pen.
“What are you two doing?” said Harry. “Why don’t you talk to me? Can’t I do something to help? I’m ten. How old are you?”
“I was fourteen a few weeks ago,” said Pauline.
“Granny!” said the boy. “Why, you are quite old; you are withering up. I wouldn’t like to be fourteen. You must know a monstrous lot. You are a very plucky one to come through the water as you did. I wish I could swim, and I wouldn’t let the waves get the better of me; but I’m glad I let Nellie see that I wasn’t afraid of drowning. Do you mind drowning, big, big, old girl?”
“Yes, I do,” said Pauline.
“You have a queer sort of look in your eyes, like the little one has in hers. Are you wicked, too?”
“You have guessed it,” said Pauline.