Two more years went by of daily walks and insignificant adventures. Jenny was five. Alfie and Edie were now stalwart scholars, who rushed off in the mornings, the former armed, according to the season, with chestnuts, pegtops or bags of marbles, the latter full of whispers and giggles, always one of a bunch of other little girls distinguishable only by dress. About this time Jenny came to the conclusion she did not want to be a girl any longer. But the bedrock of sexual differences puzzled her: obviously one vital quality of boyishness was the right to wear breeches. Jenny took off her petticoats and stalked about the kitchen. "You rude thing!" said Ruby, shocked by the exhibition. "I'm not a rude thing," Jenny declared; "I'm being a boy." "And wherever is your petticoats?" "I frowed 'em away," said Jenny. "I'm a boy." "You're rude little girl." "I'm not a girl. I won't be a girl. I want to be a boy." Jenny darted for the street, encountering by the gate the outraged blushes of Edie and her bunch of secretive companions. "Did you ever?" said the ripest. "Look at Edie's sister." Boys opposite began to "holler." Alfie appeared bent double in an effort to secure a blood ally. He lost at once the marble and the respect of his schoolfellows. His confusion was terrible. His sister skirtless before the public eye! Young Jenny making him look like a fool! "Go on in, you little devil," he shouted. He ground his teeth. "Go on in!" Ruby was by this time in pursuit of the rebel. Mrs. Raeburn had been warned and was already at the gate. Alfie, haunted by a thousand mocking eyes, fled to his room and wept tears of shame. Edie broke away from her friends, and stood, breathing very fast, in petrified anticipation. Jenny was led indoors and up to bed. "Why can't I be a boy?" she moaned. "Well, there's a sauce!" said Ruby. "However on earth can you be a boy when you've been made a girl?" "But I don't want to be a girl." "Well, you've got to be, and that's all about it. You'll be fidgeting for the moon next. Besides, if you go trapesing round half-dressed, the policeman'll have you." Jenny had heard of the powers of the policeman for a long time. Those guardians of order stood for her as sinister, inhuman figures, always ready to spring on little girls and carry them off to unknown places. She was never taught to regard them as kindly defenders on whom one could rely in emergencies, but looked upon them with all the suspicion of a dog for a uniform. Their large quiescence and their habit of looming unexpectedly round corners shed a cloud upon the sunniest moment. They were images of vengeance at whose approach even boys huddled together, shamefaced. Mrs. Raeburn came upstairs to interview her discontented daughter. "Don't you ever do any such thing again. Behaving like a tomboy!" "Why mayn't I be a boy?" "Because you're a girl." "Who said so?" "God." "Who's God?" "That's neither here nor there."