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. His heart was
pounding, but this time he would remain calm. He fully
expected Petal to return. And this time he would be waiting
for her.
Alas, lulled by the croaking of the frogs, he fell asleep.
In the morning when he awoke, the gown was gone
from his hands. He dashed straight back to his cottage
where he found, sure enough, Petal curled up in her bed, the
puddles of water on the floor.
"How innocently you sleep there," muttered Aron, his
eyes asquint, "just like the little girl I once knew, eh? But
look here, these puddles belie that innocence. Well, sleep
soundly, my daughter, for you will be deceitful no more."
Aron left the room, knowing what he had to do. For one
more day, he would play the innocent. For one more day, he
would pretend he had nothing burdensome on his mind. He
even whistled again at his loom, which had the intended
effect of reassuring Petal.
But as soon as night fell and Petal went to bed, Aron
dropped his pose. He quietly secured both her window
shutter and door with braces of wood. Taking up his lantern
and stick, he hurried to the pond.
When he got there, he placed himself near the old
beaver dam. There, in a high voice, he called out, "My love,
my love, take me to your home
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