with the frightening man in the lane.

"Why does it make her?"

She knew; she knew; but she wanted to see what he would say.

"I said that was enough.... Do you know what you've been guilty of?"

"Disobedience."

"More than that. Breaking trust. Meanness. It was mean and dishonorable of
you when you knew you wouldn't be punished."

"Isn't there to be a punishment?"

"No. People are punished to make them remember. We want you to forget."
His arm tightened, drawing her closer. And the kind, secret voice went on.
"Forget ugly things. Understand, Hatty, nothing is forbidden. We don't
forbid, because we trust you to do what we wish. To behave beautifully....
There, there."

She hid her face on his breast against his tickly coat, and cried.

She would always have to do what they wanted; the unhappiness of not doing
it was more than she could bear. All very well to say there would be no
punishment; _their_ unhappiness was the punishment.

It hurt more than anything. It kept on hurting when she thought about it.

The first minute of to-morrow she would begin behaving beautifully; as