The water was still troubled and discoloured by his introductory adventure, and, though he ducked his head with the spirit of a dabchick, the book was missing.

A scrap of paper floating from the bramble just above the water, and looking as if fire had caught its edges and it had flown from one adverse element to the other, was all he could lay hold of; and he returned to land disconsolately, to hear Miranda's murmured mixing of thanks and pretty expostulations.
"Let me try again," he said.
"No, indeed!" she replied, and used the awful threat: "I will run away if you do," which effectually restrained him.
Her eye fell on the fire-stained scrap of paper, and brightened, as she cried, "There, there! you have what I want.

It is that.

I do not care for the book.

No, please! You are not to look at it.