That afternoon, when leaving the house, I had been followed by one of the dogs, which, when I went up the willow-tree, amused himself chasing water lizards along the bank of the creek.  He treed one, and kept up a furious barking at the base of its refuge.  The yelping had disturbed grannie where she was reading on the veranda, and coming down the road under a big umbrella to see what the noise was about, as luck would have it she was in the nick of time to catch me standing on Harold Beecham’s back.  Grannie frequently showed marked displeasure regarding what she termed my larrikinism, but never before had I seen her so thoroughly angry.  Shutting her umbrella, she thrust at me with it, saying, “shame! shame!  You’ll come to some harm yet, you immodest, bold, bad hussy!  I will write to your mother about you.  Go home at once, miss, and confine yourself in your room for the remainder of the day, and don’t dare eat anything until tomorrow.  Spend the time in fasting, and pray to God to make you better.  I don’t know what makes you so forward with men.  Your mother and aunt never gave me the slightest trouble in that way.”

She pushed me from her in anger, and I turned and strode housewards without a word or glancing behind.  I could hear grannie deprecating my conduct as I departed, and Harold quietly and decidedly differing from her.

From the time of my infancy punishment of any description never had a beneficial effect upon me.  But dear old grannie was acting according to her principles in putting me through a term of penance, so I shut myself in my room as directed, with goodwill towards her at my heart.  I was burning with shame.  Was I bold and immodest with men, as accused of being?  It was the last indiscretion I would intentionally have been guilty of.  In associating with men I never realize that the trifling difference of sex is sufficient to be a great wall between us.  The fact of sex never for an instant enters my head, and I find it as easy to be chummy with men as with girls:  men in return have always been very good, and have treated me in the same way.

On returning from her walk grannie came to my room, brought me some preachy books to read, and held out to me the privilege of saying I was sorry, and being restored to my usual place in the society of the household.

“Grannie, I cannot say I am sorry and promise to reform, for my conscience does not reproach me in the least.  I had no evil—­not even a violation of manners—­in my intentions; but I am sorry that I vexed you,” I said.

“Vexing me is not the sinful part of it.  It is your unrepentant heart that fills me with fears for your future.  I will leave you here to think by yourself.  The only redeeming point about you is, you do not pretend to be sorry when you are not.”

The dear old lady shook her head sorrowfully as she departed.

The afternoon soon ran away, as I turned to my bookcase for entertainment and had that beautiful ring to admire.