mbled in, you'd
get d'owned."

"No, not river-edge," I explained; "rev-enge" (saying the word very
slowly and distinctly). But I couldn't help thinking that Bruno's
explanation did very well for either word.

"Oh!" said Bruno, opening his eyes very wide, but without attempting to
repeat the word.

"Come! try and pronounce it, Bruno!" I said, cheerfully. "Rev-enge,
rev-enge."

But Bruno only tossed his little head, and said he couldn't; that his
mouth wasn't the right shape for words of that kind. And the more I
laughed, the more sulky the little fellow got about it.

"Well, never mind, little man!" I said. "Shall I help you with the job
you've got there?"

"Yes, please," Bruno said, quite pacified. "Only I wish I could think
of something to vex her more than this. You don't know how hard it is
to make her ang'y!"

"Now listen to me, Bruno, and I'll teach you quite a splendid kind of
revenge!"

"Something that'll vex her finely?" Bruno asked with gleaming eyes.

"Something that'll vex her finely. First, we'll get up all the weeds in
her garden. See, there are a good many at this end--quite hiding the
flowers."

"But _that_ wont vex her," said Bruno, looking rather puzzled.

"After that," I said, without noticing the remark, "we'll water the
highest bed--up here. You see it's getting quite dry and dusty."

Bruno looked at me inquisitively, but he said nothing this time.

"Then, after that," I went on, "the walks want sweeping a bit; and I
think you might cut down that tall nettle; it's so close to the garden
that it's quite in the way--"

"What _are_ you talking about?" Bruno impatiently interrupted me. "All
that wont vex her a bit!"

"Wont it?" I said, innocently. "Then, after that, suppose we put in
some of these colored pebbles--just to mark the divisions between the
different kinds of flowers, you know. That'll have a very pretty
effect."

Bruno turned round and had another good stare at me. At last there came
an odd little twinkle in his eye, and he said, with quite a new meaning
in his voice:

"V'y well--let's put 'em in rows--all the 'ed together, and all the
blue together."

"That'll do capitally," I said; "and then--what kind of flowers does
Sylvie like best in her garden?"

Bruno had to put his thumb in his mouth and consider a little before he
could answer. "Violets," he said, at last.

"There's a beautiful bed of violets down by the lake--"

"Oh, let's fetch 'em!" cried Bruno, giv