She admired Lancelot, both for bravery of apparel and of action; and she longed to know how he would get a good pitcher of water without any splash upon his clothes. So she stood behind a little bush, pretending not to be at all concerned, but amused at having her work done for her. But Pet was too sharp to play cat's-paw for nothing.
“Smile, and say 'thank you,'” he cried, “or I won't do it. I am not going up to my middle for nothing; I know that you want to laugh at me.”
“You must have a very low middle,” said Insie; “why, it never comes half way to my knees.”
“You have got no stockings, and no new gaiters,” Lancelot answered, reasonably; and then, like two children, they set to and laughed, till the gill almost echoed with them.
“Why, you're holding the mouth of the pitcher down stream!” Insie could hardly speak for laughing. “Is that how you go to fill a pitcher?”
“Yes, and the right way too,” he answered; “the best water always comes up the eddies. You ought to be old enough to know that.”
“I don't know anything at all—except that you are ruining your best clothes.”
“I don't care twopence for such rubbish. You ought to see me on a Sunday, Insie, if you want to know what is good. There, you never drew such a pitcher as that. And I believe there is a fish in the bottom of it.”
“Oh, if there is a fish, let me have him in my hands. I can nurse a fish on dry land, until he gets quite used to it. Are you sure that there is a little fish?”
“No, there is no fish; and I am soaking wet. But I never care what anybody thinks of me. If they say what I don't like, I kick them.”