into which Satan was always egging her, she had
pushed him; and he had tumbled head over heels into the horse-pond. The
reason, that instead of lying there and drowning he had got up and walked
back to the house howling fit to wake the Seven Sleepers, was that God,
watching over little children, had arranged for the incident taking place
on that side of the pond where it was shallow. Had the scrimmage
occurred on the opposite bank, beneath which the water was much deeper,
Joan in all probability would have had murder on her soul. It seemed to
Joan that if God, all-powerful and all-foreseeing, had been so careful in
selecting the site, He might with equal ease have prevented the row from
ever taking place. Why couldn't the little beast have been guided back
from school through the orchard, much the shorter way, instead of being
brought round by the yard, so as to come upon her at a moment when she
was feeling a bit short-tempered, to put it mildly? And why had God
allowed him to call her "Carrots"? That Joan should have "put it" this
way, instead of going down on her knees and thanking the Lord for having
saved her from a crime, was proof of her inborn evil disposition. In the
evening was reached the culminating point. Just before going to bed she
had murdered old George the cowman. For all practical purposes she might
just as well have been successful in drowning William Augustus earlier in
the day. It seemed to be one of those things that had to be. Mr.
Hornflower still lived, it was true, but that was not Joan's fault. Joan,
standing in white night-gown beside her bed, everything around her
breathing of innocence and virtue: the spotless bedclothes, the chintz
curtains, the white hyacinths upon the window-ledge, Joan's Bible, a
present from Aunt Susan; her prayer-book, handsomely bound in calf, a
present from Grandpapa, upon their little table; Mrs. Munday in evening
black and cameo brooch (pale red with tomb and weeping willow in white
relief) sacred to the memory of the departed Mr. Munday--Joan standing
there erect, with pale, passionate face, defying all these aids to
righteousness, had deliberately wished Mr. Hornflower dead. Old George
Hornflower it was who, unseen by her, had passed her that morning in the
wood. Grumpy old George it was who had overheard the wicked word with
which she had cursed the pig; who had met William Augustus on his
emergence from the pond. To Mr. George Hornflower, the humb