All the morning she had been longing to explore this ancient Roman fortress, of which the boys had talked the night before. Her imagination had been revelling in its half-buried donjon, its secret passages and its mouldering lookout, from which, according to Kirke’s extravagant statement, they could “almost see the north pole.”
And now was the very time to visit the old gray walls; yes, the very time, for her father and Paul and Kirke were wandering up there photographing the ruins, and could help Molly and herself over the risky places. It was a damper to her enthusiasm when Molly sorrowfully replied,—
“You and Weezy can go, Polly, but I can’t; I can’t leave Donald.”
“There’d be no fun without you, Molly.” Pauline made a wry face. “Can’t we take Donald up with us?”
“Not peaceably, I’m afraid,” whispered Molly with a sage smile. “Certainly not just yet.”
“Supposing he should cry a little; that wouldn’t hurt him,” persisted Pauline, hard-hearted in her eagerness.
Molly flushed an indignant crimson. “I’m not going to drag my little brother out of the water for anybody,” she retorted quickly. “I think ’twould be a burning shame, when he loves it so and has hardly been in it two seconds.”
Donald entertained the same opinion, and when Pauline essayed by sweet words to coax him upon dry land, he retreated with all speed to the middle of the pool. This, though scarcely nine feet across and but four inches in depth, was an ocean to him; and from its secure centre he shook his wilful little head at his would-be captor.
His sisters smiled indulgently; but Pauline betrayed an impatience that wounded Molly.
“I want to see the ruins as much as Polly does,” she reflected; “but I won’t cheat Donald of his little rights.”