“No, I shan’t,” replied Dotty; “but you said you should.”
Tate really did not know whether to keep her word or not. She thought she did not care.
“But if you do die, you’ll be dreadful ’shamed of it,” went on Dotty; “and there won’t anybody pity you.”
“I’m willing to go,” said Tate, wringing her hands, “I’m willing to go, and keep going; but I don’t know where to go to.”
As she spoke they had reached a corner. “Where to go to,” they might well ask, for the wind started up afresh, and, instead of blowing two ways, it blew four. It sent the children towards the west, and in the next instant hurled them north, against a lamp-post.
“I shouldn’t think it need to act so to us little girls,” said Tate, despairingly.
“O, dear,” cried Dotty. “O, dear, dear, Tate Penny, I’m going to give up!”
Tate shrieked aloud. If Dotty gave up they were certainly lost.