I had received, tired by the journey, tired by the want of food;
and here I was being forced to run because this very naughty
little girl chose to hide instead of going in to her lessons.

"I say--this is jolly--" she jerked out.

"But why need we run to the same place?" I breathlessly asked,
in the vain hope of getting rid of her.
"Oh, yes--that's just--the fun. We'd get on--together--you and I--"

"No, no," said I, decided on this point, bewildered though I was.

"I can't stand washing--either--it's awful--in winter--
and makes one have--chaps."

"But I don't mind it in the least," I protested faintly,
not having any energy left.

"Oh, I say!" said the little girl, looking at my face,
and making the sound known as a guffaw. The familiarity
of this little girl was wholly revolting.

We had got safely through the door, round the corner past
the radishes, and were in the shrubbery. I knew from experience
how easy it was to hide in the tangle of little paths, and stopped
a moment to look round and listen. The little girl opened her
mouth to speak. With great presence of mind I instantly put my
muff in front of it and held it there tight, while I listened.
Dead silence, except for the laboured breathing and struggles
of the little girl.