She was tired of being a girl; tired of being without a father. “I’ll be a boy,” she whispered, “and wear knickerbockers and have a father, like Teddy.” She really thought that, in some occult way, her outrageous conduct would accomplish that. It was all a matter of dress. She chuckled at imagining her mother’s amazement. The still sheet of water was a Pool of Siloam that would heal a little girl of her sex. “When she’s once got in,” whispered Ruddy, “it won’t be so bad. We can----” Teddy grabbed his shoulder fiercely. “You shan’t see her. We’ll stay just as far away as----” A scream startled the air. They swung about. Knee-deep in the pool, at bay and pale as a wood-nymph, was Desire. “I won’t come out,” she was shouting, “and I’m not a naughty girl.” Leaning out from the bank, trying to hook her with an umbrella, was a balloon-shaped old lady. Behind her, peering above the bushes, was the face of Farmer Joseph, his merry eyes screwed up with amusement. “But you’ll catch cold, darling,” Mrs. Sheerug coaxed. “Oh, dear, oh, dear! What shall I do? Please do come out.” “I shan’t catch cold either. And if I do come out you’ll only be cross with me.” “I won’t be cross with you, darling. I’m too glad to find you for that.” “Did my beautiful mother send you?” With what guile Mrs. Sheerug answered the boys could only guess by the effect. “Well, then,” came the piping little voice, “tell Farmer Joseph to stop looking, and you stop poking at me. I don’t like your umbrella.” They saw her wade out, drops of water falling from her elfin whiteness like jewels; then saw her folded in the bat-like wings of the faery-godmother’s ample mantle. The glade emptied. The wood grew silent They dared to swim to land. Ruddy was the first to say anything. “Ma--Ma’s a wonder. I oughtn’t to have sent that pigeon till this s’moming.” Then, in a burst of penitence for his zeal, “I’m afraid I’ve spoiled---- I say, I’m beastly sorry.” He had spoiled everything; there was no denying it There would be no more camp-fires, no more slaying of bird-catchers, no more pretending you were a war-horse with a rescued Princess from Goblinland riding on your back. Teddy was too unhappy to blame or forgive Ruddy. He pulled on his shirt and indulged in reflections. “Wonder how they found us?” muttered Ruddy. “Must have seen the smoke of our fire. That wasn’t my fault anyhow; you did agree to lighting that.” “Oh, be quiet,” growled Teddy. “What does anything matter? Who cares now how they found out?” Ruddy stole away to see what was happening, thinking that he might prove more acceptable elsewhere.