“He said he loved her best; and you know that sort of little chap,” said Harriet, “he never, never could tell a lie—that is quite outside his category.”
“Oh quite, dear little man!” said Jane.
“Well, I wanted some water-lilies; and what do you think? I tried to pull some, but I couldn’t, and he—he crept along a bough. I could have prevented him, but I didn’t, for a thought got into my head.”
“What was that?”
“I knew quite well that if he crept along that bough—that willow bough that hangs over the round pond, that it wouldn’t hold his weight, and that he would fall in.”
“You knew it!” said Jane, gasping, “and you let him do it?”
“I did. I let him do it on purpose. He didn’t see me. He wanted to get the water-lilies for me, and he thought he would manage—oh, so fine! and I watched behind a shrub.”
“Oh, Harriet!”
“Well, my dear; you needn’t go on like that. The bough dipped lower and lower, and Ralph, he is not a bit frightened—you know he never was, he is as plucky as his father. I did feel inclined to say, ‘oh, do go back, Ralph—’”
“And you didn’t say the words, Harriet?”