It was the one sin that hitherto they had never
committed, and I fancy the old man was feeling proud of this.
Luckily I caught them coming home--with ten dead rabbits strung on a
pole, the twins carrying it between them on their shoulders,
suggesting the picture of the spies returning from the promised land
with that bunch of grapes--Veronica scouting on ahead with, every ten
yards, her ear to the ground, listening for hostile footsteps. The
thing that troubled her most was that she hadn't heard me coming; she
seemed to fear that something had gone wrong with the laws of Nature.
They had found the whole collection hanging from a tree, and had
persuaded themselves that Providence must have been expecting them.
I insisted on their going back with me and showing me the tree, much
to their disgust. And fortunately the keeper wasn't about--they are
men that love making a row. I talked some fine moral sentiment to
her. But she says you have told her that it doesn't matter whether
you are good or bad, things happen to you just the same; and this
being so she feels she may as well enjoy herself. I asked her why
she never seemed able to enjoy herself being good--I believe if I'd
always had a kid to bring up I'd have been a model chap myself by
this time. Her answer was that she supposed she was born bad. I
pointed out to her that was a reflection on you and Little Mother;
and she answered she guessed she must be a 'throw-back.
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