208 THE LAND OF PLUCK

made so thoroughly to understand that to tumble from it

‘
g
would be to break every bone in my body, to say nothing
of being ‘ killed stone dead, that I gave up my half-formed
plan at once. Then there was the window. It would be
fun to let myself down from it by tying a stout rope to the
bed-post, and so sliding to the ground. But the rope
might break, or I might not be able to hold on —and the
wild thought was abandoned in a flash. Suddenly an idea
came to me:

“There was a beautiful porcelain, vase on the top of
father’s bookcase, high out of reach. Often had I longed
to see it near by, or perhaps to take it into my own hands,
but always I had been met by a harrowing array of
reasons why my wish could not be gratified. In the first

 

place the vase was precious — secondly, it was fragile
thirdly, it was expensive — fourthly, it had been firmly
perched upon the top of that solid bookcase so that it
might be ‘safely out of harm’s way’—fifthly, there was
no sense in my desiring a nearer view. of it, a sharp-eyed
little fellow like me — sixthly, they had no time to bother
with such nonsense

 

seventhly, they would n’t, and so on,
till, in the course of time, I had been given twenty good
reasons, more or less, why that vase should 1’t, could 1’t,
and must n’t be disturbed. These, of course, were soon
twisted by my perverse but most lovable self into twenty
or less good reasons why I should, could, and must hold
that vase in my own hands and enjoy a good, long, linger-
ing look at it. Now was my opportunity. Why not?
‘There was no one nigh to hinder’ But —

“What of LI should break it!