'Who can have done it?' they exclaimed. 'Could Esmé have been so——'
'Cruel and naughty,' I interrupted,—'yes, I am afraid so, though I couldn't have believed it of her. Geordie, pick up the kettle please, without jingling if you can help it, and please throw away the horrid things that are in it.'
'No, no, don't throw them away!' exclaimed a newcomer on the scene. 'They're my nails and screws.'
It was Denzil.
'And my kettle,' said poor Rolf, rather dolefully, for he was proud of his cooking stove and all its neat arrangements, and the kettle looked nearly as miserable for a kettle as Roughie did for a little dog!
I turned upon Denzil very sharply, I am afraid.
'Did you know of it, then?' I said.
Poor Denzil looked very frightened.
'In course not, Ida,' he said. 'I came out to ask Esmé for my nails. She had a lot of them in her blouse pockets, and she got tired of helping me and forgot to give me them back.'