`Oh, Bruno, you shouldn't do that,' I cried. `Don't you know that's revenge? And revenge is a wicked, cruel, dangerous thing!'

`River-edge?' said Bruno. `What a funny word! I suppose you call it c'ooel and dangerous because if you went too far and tumbled 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 won't vex her,' said Bruno, looking rather puzzled.

`After that,' I said, without noticing the remark, `we'll water this 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 won't vex her a bit!'

`Won't it?' I said innocently. `Then, after that, suppose we put in some of these coloured 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, `Very 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, giving a little skip into the air. `Here! Catch hold of my hand and I'll help you along. The g'ass is rather thick down that way.'