"That's not fair," Robert insisted. "It just did it itself. Sara made the noise," he repeated with obstinacy. "No matter how long you make me reflect, Mother, that's all I'll reflect on."
Reflection had often brought light to Robert's mind. His was a logical and reasonable mind, and in moments of stress Alice had asked him to sit quietly—oh, no, this was not a punishment!—and think over the events that had occurred and reflect as to his share in them. She had not tried reflection on Sara heretofore. Somehow, Sara did not seem to have arrived at the age of reflection, although reflection seemed specially adapted to Robert's temperament from a very early age.
When Alice got down-stairs Sara was already seated in a chair which she had turned toward the wall, in an attitude of deep thought. Alice explained to her the theme for reflecting. She had a talk with reasonable Robert, and asked him to consider that they both had forfeited their right to candy.
When Alice got back to her room all thoughts she had had on Woman and Civics were wilted like up-rooted plants which have lain in the sun. She, also, gave herself up to reflection.
From down-stairs came Sara's cheerful little chirp.
"Mother," it went. "Mother, may I stop reflecting? I've got it all finished."
Alice looked at her watch. Reflection was never prolonged to the line of punishment.
"Why, yes," she called back, "you can stop now. Come and tell Mother what you've reflected."
"I've 'lected," said Sara, beaming; "I 'lected everything. I 'lected that Robert is good and"—here her voice sailed up in a note of triumph—"that we each ought to have some candy because nobody meant anything."
