"Weren't you in the crater?"

"No, I wasn't."

"They said you were."

"I wasn't. I was on the back of a big, horrid man, who gave great
jumps down the side of an awful mountain, all sand and things, and
threw me down at the bottom of it, and--and--disarranged all my hair.
And I was so frightened that I couldn't even cur--cur--cry."

Here Minnie sobbed afresh, and Mrs. Willoughby petted her again.

"And you shouldn't tease me so; and it's very unkind in you; and you
know I'm not well; and I can't bear to think about it all; and I know
you're going to scold me; and you're _always_ scolding me; and you
_never_ do what I want you to. And then people are _always_ coming and
saving my life, and I can't bear it any more."

"No-o-o-o-o-o, n-n-no-o-o-o, darling!" said Mrs. Willoughby,
soothingly, in the tone of a nurse appeasing a fretful child. "You
sha'n't bear it any more."

"I don't _want_ them to save me any more."

"Well, they sha'n't _do_ it, then," said Mrs. Willoughby,
affectionately, in a somewhat maudlin tone.

"And the next time I lose my life, I don't want to be saved. I want