After that they went through the whole garden again, flower by flower,
as if it were a long sentence they were spelling out, with kisses for
commas, and a great hug by way of a full-stop when they got to the end.
"Doos oo know, that was my river-edge, Sylvie?" Bruno solemnly began.
Sylvie laughed merrily. "What do you mean?" she said. And she pushed
back her heavy brown hair with both hands, and looked at him with
dancing eyes in which the big teardrops were still glittering.
Bruno drew in a long breath, and made up his mouth for a great effort.
"I mean revenge," he said: "now oo under'tand." And he looked so happy
and proud at having said the word right at last, that I quite envied him.
I rather think Sylvie didn't "under'tand" at all; but she gave him a
little kiss on each cheek, which seemed to do just as well.
So they wandered off lovingly together, in among the buttercups, each
with an arm twined round the other, whispering and laughing as they went,
and never so much as once looked back at poor me. Yes, once, just before
I quite lost sight of them, Bruno half turned his head, and nodded me a
saucy little good-bye over one shoulder. And that was all the thanks I
got for my trouble. The very last thing I saw of them was this--
Sylvie was stooping down with her arms round Bruno's neck, and
saying coaxingly in his ear, "Do you know, Bruno, I've quite forgotten
that hard word. Do say it once more.
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