“No, I wasn’t.”

“They said you were.”

“I wasn’t.  I was on the back of a big, horrid man, who gave great jumps down the side of an awful mountain, all sand and things, and threw me down at the bottom of it, and—­and—­disarranged all my hair.  And I was so frightened that I couldn’t even cur—­cur—­cry.”

Here Minnie sobbed afresh, and Mrs. Willoughby petted her again.

“And you shouldn’t tease me so; and it’s very unkind in you; and you know I’m not well; and I can’t bear to think about it all; and I know you’re going to scold me; and you’re always scolding me; and you never do what I want you to.  And then people are always coming and saving my life, and I can’t bear it any more.”

“No-o-o-o-o-o, n-n-no-o-o-o, darling!” said Mrs. Willoughby, soothingly, in the tone of a nurse appeasing a fretful child.  “You sha’n’t bear it any more.”

“I don’t want them to save me any more.”

“Well, they sha’n’t do it, then,” said Mrs. Willoughby, affectionately, in a somewhat maudlin tone.

“And the next time I lose my life, I don’t want to be saved.  I want them to let me alone, and I’ll come home myself.”

“And so you shall, darling; you shall do just as you please.  So, now, cheer up; don’t cry;” and Mrs. Willoughby tried to wipe Minnie’s eyes.

“But you’re treating me just like a baby, and I don’t want to be talked to so,” said Minnie, fretfully.

Mrs. Willoughby retreated with a look of despair.

“Well, then, dear, I’ll do just whatever you want me to do.”

“Well, then, I want you to tell me what I am to do.”

“About what?”

“Why, about this great, big, horrid man.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk about this any more.”

“But I do want you to talk about it.  You’re the only person that I’ve got to talk to about it; nobody else knows how peculiarly I’m situated; and I didn’t think that you’d give me up because I had fresh troubles.”

“Give you up, darling!” echoed her sister, in surprise.

“You said you wouldn’t talk about it any more.”

“But I thought you didn’t want me to talk about it.”

“But I do want you to.”

“Very well, then; and now I want you first of all, darling, to tell me how you happened to get into such danger.”

“Well, you know,” began Minnie, who now seemed calmer—­“you know we all went out for a drive.  And we drove along for miles.  Such a drive!  There were lazaroni, and donkeys, and caleches with as many as twenty in each, all pulled by one poor horse, and it’s a great shame; and pigs—­oh, such pigs!  Not a particle of hair on them, you know, and looking like young elephants, you know; and we saw great droves of oxen, and long lines of booths, no end; and people selling macaroni, and other people eating it right in the open street, you know—­such fun!—­and fishermen and fish-wives.  Oh, how they were screaming, and oh, such a hubbub as there was! and we couldn’t go on fast, and Dowdy seemed really frightened.”