Edith Nesbit,
The Red House
(1902)
“ There was I creeping along with my syringe full charged, and the pail in my other hand—held well out, because of my gown—and he, poor soul, sauntering along in the shadows of the nut-walk, thinking nothing less than that some one was advancing with his pink doom. When he was a couple of yards off I fired a volley—slap in his face—and turned to run. He swore—but I forgive him that. My pail caught in a bough, and went over his feet, for he jumped towards the noise; he is not a coward. ”
