house, with pieces of bark and stones; but Cuffy determined to pick a beeyutiful nosegay, that Cousin Emmy would like ever so much, and say "How pretty!" to, and "How kind of you, Cuffy!" Mr. Angus had a face like a cow; and when he spoke he made hissing noises through his teeth. The first time he heard them, Cuffy hadn't been able to tear his eyes away, and had stood stockstill in front of the minister till Cousin Emmy got quite cross. And Mr. Angus said, in his opinion, little people should not only be seen and not heard, but not even seen.
All right then! Whistling his loudest Cuffy sauntered off. He would be good, and not go near any of the old, open shafts; quite specially not the one where the old dead donkey had tumbled in and floated. You weren't allowed to look down this hole, not even if somebody held your hand . . . like Mr. Angus did Cousin Emmy's. (Why was he? She couldn't fall off a log.) It had a nasty smell, too. Cousin Emmy said only to think of it made her sick. And Mamma said they were to hold their noses as they passed. Why was the donkey so nasty because it was dead? What did a dead donkey do?
But first he would pick the flowers. It wouldn't take long, there were such lots of them. Papa said we must thank the rains for the flowers; and it had rained every day for nearly a month. The Lagoon was quite full, and the tank, too; which made Mamma glad. -- And now Cuffy darted about, tearing up bits of running postman, and pulling snatches of the purple sarsaparilla that climbed the bushes and young trees, till he had a tight, close bunch in his hot little hand. As he picked, he sniffed the air, which smelt lovely ... like honey.... Cousin Emmy said it was the wattle coming out. To feel it better he shut his eyes, screwed them up to nothing, and kept them tight. And when he opened them again, everything looked new . . . as if he'd never seen it before . . . all the white trees, tall like poles, that went up and up to where, right at the top, among whiskery branches, were bits of blue that were the sky.
With the elastic of his big upturned sailor-hat between his teeth -- partly to keep it on; partly because he loved chewing things: elastic, or string, or the fingers of kid gloves -- Cuffy ran at top speed to the donkey-hole. But a couple of yards from the shaft his courage all but failed him. What was he going to see? And ooh! . . . it did smell. Laying his flowers on the ground, he went down on his hands and knees and crawled forward till he could just peep over. And then, why, what a sell! It wasn't a donkey at all -- just water -- and in it a great lump that stuck out like a 'normous boiled pudding. . . oh, and a million, no, two million and a half blowflies walking on it, and a smell like -- ooh, yes! just exactly like . . .
But before he could put a name to the odour, there was a great shouting and cooee-ing, and it was him they were calling. . . and calling. In his guilty fright Cuffy gave a jerk, and off went his hat with its pulped elastic -- went down, down, down, while the blowflies came up. He just managed to wriggle a little way back, but was still on all fours (squashing the flowers) when they found him, Mr. Angus panting and puffing with tears on his forehead, Cousin Emmy pressing her hand to her chest and saying, oh dear oh dear! Then Mr. Angus took him by the shoulder and shook him. Little boys who ran away in the bush always got lost, and never saw their Mammas and Papas again. They had nothing to eat and starved to death, and not till years afterwards were their skeletons found, Cuffy, who knew quite well where he was, and hadn't meant to run away, thought him very silly . . . and rude.
It was the loss of the hat that was the tragedy. This made ever so many things go wrong, and ended with Cousin Emmy having to go back to live with Aunt Lizzie again, and them getting a real paid governess to teach them.
Hatless, squeezed close up to Cousin Emmy to be under her parasol, Cuffy was hurried
All right then! Whistling his loudest Cuffy sauntered off. He would be good, and not go near any of the old, open shafts; quite specially not the one where the old dead donkey had tumbled in and floated. You weren't allowed to look down this hole, not even if somebody held your hand . . . like Mr. Angus did Cousin Emmy's. (Why was he? She couldn't fall off a log.) It had a nasty smell, too. Cousin Emmy said only to think of it made her sick. And Mamma said they were to hold their noses as they passed. Why was the donkey so nasty because it was dead? What did a dead donkey do?
But first he would pick the flowers. It wouldn't take long, there were such lots of them. Papa said we must thank the rains for the flowers; and it had rained every day for nearly a month. The Lagoon was quite full, and the tank, too; which made Mamma glad. -- And now Cuffy darted about, tearing up bits of running postman, and pulling snatches of the purple sarsaparilla that climbed the bushes and young trees, till he had a tight, close bunch in his hot little hand. As he picked, he sniffed the air, which smelt lovely ... like honey.... Cousin Emmy said it was the wattle coming out. To feel it better he shut his eyes, screwed them up to nothing, and kept them tight. And when he opened them again, everything looked new . . . as if he'd never seen it before . . . all the white trees, tall like poles, that went up and up to where, right at the top, among whiskery branches, were bits of blue that were the sky.
With the elastic of his big upturned sailor-hat between his teeth -- partly to keep it on; partly because he loved chewing things: elastic, or string, or the fingers of kid gloves -- Cuffy ran at top speed to the donkey-hole. But a couple of yards from the shaft his courage all but failed him. What was he going to see? And ooh! . . . it did smell. Laying his flowers on the ground, he went down on his hands and knees and crawled forward till he could just peep over. And then, why, what a sell! It wasn't a donkey at all -- just water -- and in it a great lump that stuck out like a 'normous boiled pudding. . . oh, and a million, no, two million and a half blowflies walking on it, and a smell like -- ooh, yes! just exactly like . . .
But before he could put a name to the odour, there was a great shouting and cooee-ing, and it was him they were calling. . . and calling. In his guilty fright Cuffy gave a jerk, and off went his hat with its pulped elastic -- went down, down, down, while the blowflies came up. He just managed to wriggle a little way back, but was still on all fours (squashing the flowers) when they found him, Mr. Angus panting and puffing with tears on his forehead, Cousin Emmy pressing her hand to her chest and saying, oh dear oh dear! Then Mr. Angus took him by the shoulder and shook him. Little boys who ran away in the bush always got lost, and never saw their Mammas and Papas again. They had nothing to eat and starved to death, and not till years afterwards were their skeletons found, Cuffy, who knew quite well where he was, and hadn't meant to run away, thought him very silly . . . and rude.
It was the loss of the hat that was the tragedy. This made ever so many things go wrong, and ended with Cousin Emmy having to go back to live with Aunt Lizzie again, and them getting a real paid governess to teach them.
Hatless, squeezed close up to Cousin Emmy to be under her parasol, Cuffy was hurried
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