"Well, if he waits until I come to get him, he'll--just wait!" It was very hot on the gate.

The vacant field on the other side, where the Widow Peel pastured her cow, was hot, too, but if one cut across the field and circled the back of the Widow Peel's cottage one substantially lessened the distance between oneself and the cool deliciousness of the river.

The Widow Peel was near-sighted and hardly ever noticed one rushing over her beds of lettuce and carrots and onions, or if she did, she could not "fit a name to 'em." Ann sighed and swung her brown legs.

Should she or should she not go in search of Bubble?
Going would mean a distasteful swallowing of proper pride; not going would mean--no Bubble.

It would be a case of cutting off one's nose--Ann's small white teeth came together with a little click.
"I'll go.