“You must know, dear John, that we have been extremely curious, ever since Uncle Reuben came, to know what he was come for, especially at this time of year, when he is at his busiest.  He never vouchsafed any explanation, neither gave any reason, true or false, which shows his entire ignorance of all feminine nature.  If Ruth had known, and refused to tell us, we should have been much easier, because we must have got it out of Ruth before two or three days were over.  But darling Ruth knew no more than we did, and indeed I must do her the justice to say that she has been quite as inquisitive.  Well, we might have put up with it, if it had not been for his taking Dolly, my own pet Dolly, away every morning, quite as if she belonged to him, and keeping her out until close upon dark, and then bringing her home in a frightful condition.  And he even had the impudence, when I told him that Dolly was my pony, to say that we owed him a pony, ever since you took from him that little horse upon which you found him strapped so snugly; and he means to take Dolly to Dulverton with him, to run in his little cart.  If there is law in the land he shall not.  Surely, John, you will not let him?”

“That I won’t,” said I, “except upon the conditions which I offered him once before.  If we owe him the pony, we owe him the straps.”

Sweet Annie laughed, like a bell, at this, and then she went on with her story.

“Well, John, we were perfectly miserable.  You cannot understand it, of course; but I used to go every evening, and hug poor Dolly, and kiss her, and beg her to tell me where she had been, and what she had seen, that day.  But never having belonged to Balaam, darling Dolly was quite unsuccessful, though often she strove to tell me, with her ears down, and both eyes rolling.  Then I made John Fry tie her tail in a knot, with a piece of white ribbon, as if for adornment, that I might trace her among the hills, at any rate for a mile or two.  But Uncle Ben was too deep for that; he cut off the ribbon before he started, saying he would have no Doones after him.  And then, in despair, I applied to you, knowing how quick of foot you are, and I got Ruth and Lizzie to help me, but you answered us very shortly; and a very poor supper you had that night, according to your deserts.

“But though we were dashed to the ground for a time, we were not wholly discomfited.  Our determination to know all about it seemed to increase with the difficulty.  And Uncle Ben’s manner last night was so dry, when we tried to romp and to lead him out, that it was much worse than Jamaica ginger grated into a poor sprayed finger.  So we sent him to bed at the earliest moment, and held a small council upon him.  If you remember you, John, having now taken to smoke (which is a hateful practice), had gone forth grumbling about your bad supper and not taking it as a good lesson.”

“Why, Annie,” I cried, in amazement at this, “I will never trust you again for a supper.  I thought you were so sorry.”