" (Which is the truth.) "How did
this thing happen?"
"I had got everything finished," answered Robina. "The duck was in
the oven with the pie; the peas and potatoes were boiling nicely. I
was feeling hot, and I thought I could trust Veronica to watch the
things for awhile. She promised not to play King Alfred."
"What's that?" I asked.
"You know," said Robina--"King Alfred and the cakes. I left her one
afternoon last year when we were on the houseboat to watch some buns.
When I came back she was sitting in front of the fire, wrapped up in
the table-cloth, with Dick's banjo on her knees and a cardboard crown
upon her head. The buns were all burnt to a cinder. As I told her,
if I had known what she wanted to be up to I could have given her
some extra bits of dough to make believe with. But oh, no! if you
please, that would not have suited her at all. It was their being
real buns, and my being real mad, that was the best part of the game.
She is an uncanny child."
"What was the game this time?" I asked.
"I don't think it was intended for a game--not at first," answered
Robina. "I went into the wood to pick some flowers for the table. I
was on my way back, still at some distance from the house, when I
heard quite a loud report. I took it for a gun, and wondered what
anyone would be shooting in July. It must be rabbits, I thought.
Rabbits never seem to have any time at all to themselves, poor
things.
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