Her mother was very sorry too.
"You must think of it as a sort of accident," she said. "But let it be a lesson to you, dear Dolly, never to do anything half in joke, or for fun as it were, which could cause trouble to any one if it turned into earnest."
There was some comfort in the thought that it was late autumn, and not spring-time, so there was no fear of poor little Jenny Wren's death leaving a nestful of tiny orphan fledglings. And Hector helped Dolly to bury the bird in a quiet corner of the garden.
But all the same, Dolly has never liked catapults since that unlucky day!
A very long Lane or Lost in the mist
Have you ever been lost? Really lost. I mean to say have you ever had the feeling of being lost? It is rather a dreadful feeling. I had it once and I have never forgotten it. I will tell you about it.
I was about fifteen at the time. We were living for some months in a large country house belonging to relations of ours, in the west of England. In that part of the world many of the roads are really only narrow lanes, where two carriages cannot pass—it is very awkward indeed sometimes, if you meet a cart or any vehicle at a narrow part. One or other has to back ever so far, till you come to a gateway or to a little outjut in the lane making it wider just there. And these lanes are sunk down below the level of the fields at their sides, and there are high hedges too, so that really you may drive for miles and miles and scarcely know where you are. It is difficult to know your way even in broad daylight—even the people who live there always, have often to consult the finger-posts, of which, I must allow, there are plenty! And for strangers or new-comers it is very puzzling.