"Bruvver!" ejaculated Pamela.

"Yes, sister," he continued, "it would be the best thing. For if I was
drown_ded_ quite dead, they'd all be so sorry that then you could tell
them about the bowl, and Biddy would not be scolded. And--and--you could
say it was far most _my_ fault, you know, for it was, and then they
wouldn't be very angry with you. Yes," he repeated solemnly, "it would
be the best thing."

By this time Pamela was completely dissolved in tears--tears of
indignation as well as of grief.

"Bruvver," she began again, "how can you say that? Us has always been
togevver. How can you fink I would _ever_ say it was most your fault,
not if you was ever so drownded. But oh, bruvver, don't frighten me so."

Duke's own tears were flowing too.

"There isn't any big sea near here," he said; "I only said if there was.
It's just that I am so very midderable. I wish Nurse hadn't got ill."

"Oh, so do I," said Pamela fervently.

By this time they had reached Spy Tower. Pamela seated herself
discreetly on the bench, though it was so much too high for her that her
short legs dangled in the air. Duke established himself on the ground in
front of her. It was a very still day--more like late summer than
spring--hardly a leaf stirred, and in the distance various sounds, the
far-off barking of a dog, the faint crowing and cackling of cocks and
hens, the voices, subdued to softness, "of the village boys and girls at