“I like boyth gameth,” pleaded Violet Elizabeth, and her blue eyes filled with tears, “pleath let me come.”
“All right,” said William. “We can’t stop you comin’. Don’t take any notice of her,” he said to the others. “She’ll soon get tired of it.”
They set off. William, for the moment abashed and deflated, followed humbly in their wake.
******
In a low-lying part of the wood was a bog. The bog was always there but as it had rained in the night the bog to-day was particularly boggy. It was quite possible to skirt this bog by walking round it on the higher ground, but William and his friends never did this. They preferred to pretend that the bog surrounded them on all sides as far as human eye could see and that at one false step they might sink deep in the morass never to be seen again.
“Come along,” called William who had recovered his spirits and position of leadership. “Come along, my brave fellows ... tread careful or instant death will be your fate, and don’t take any notice of her, she’ll soon have had enough.”
For Violet Elizabeth was trotting gaily behind the gallant band.
They did not turn round or look at her, but they could not help seeing her out of the corners of their eyes. She plunged into the bog with a squeal of delight and stamped her elegant white-clad feet into the black mud.
“Ithn’t it lovely?” she squealed. “Dothn’t it feel nith—all thquithy between your toth—ithn’t it lovely? I like boyth gameth.”
They could not help looking at her when they emerged. As fairy-like as ever above, her feet were covered with black mud up to above her socks. Shoes and socks were sodden.