“Shoot where the path is,” said Mark. “There—it’s there,”—pointing. Bevis raised the bow. “Now shoot!”
“O!” cried a voice in the reeds, “don’t shoot!”
Bevis instantly lowered the bow.
“What?” he said.
“Who’s there?” said Mark.
“It’s me—don’t shoot me!”
“Who are you?”
“Me.”
They rushed in and found Loo crouching behind the alder in the reed-grass; in her hand was a thick stick which she dropped.
“How dare you!” said Bevis.