"Did what, little Bab?"
"Ah, perhaps you'll be angry, and I shall be so very sorry; but I must tell. I did it too."
She sidled up a little nearer, and looked gently at him.
"Did what too?"
"I spurted a little—leetle ink by a spluttering pen, and it was a bad fairy called Blackamè; and another fairy was just telling me how to set it right, when Robert must have rushed in and did it all; but if I hadn't put the book on the desk near the ink, nothing would have happened, and Robert would be happy. Oh, please, Uncle Jem, don't flog Robert."
"Very well; you are a good little thing, Bab. Go to bed this moment, sir; perhaps I may let you off, as your cousin is so kind."
Robert left the room, and his father followed to at least give him a good scolding. Bab was left alone with Mr. Beresford. She stood near him, with a wistful expression about both her face and her figure.
"Will it spoil the book? And it has all happened because I was naughty and couldn't be taken. I think they had better take me next time, Mr. Beresford, whatever I've done;" and a humorous look sparkled into Bab's eyes.
"And the fairies came and talked to you? But do you know it was not really a fairy, Bab? You were fast asleep, for I saw you myself; you must have been dreaming."
"Oh dear! And was not it a fairy? then it was just a common dance I had under the tree. But do you know I'm not quite sorry, for she was not half as nice as fairies are; and that was not really a Blackamè, was it? Well, I'm sorry I could call up a bad fairy, only I do wish I had really been dancing for birds."