Clemence silenced the boy by a glance till the poor girl had quitted the room, and then Vincent laughingly exclaimed, “Why, I was making game of the chicken, and not of the cook! but could we not give her a hint not to roast a poor fowl to a cinder next time?”
Clemence thought, “It will be long enough before we have another fowl to roast!”
Notwithstanding the inexperience of the cook, Vincent, whose appetite was sharpened by fatigue and cold, did ample justice to the feast which Mrs. Gray had provided, and ate half of the chicken himself, to say nothing of bacon and eggs. He vainly endeavoured to induce his step-mother to follow his example.
“I say,” observed Vincent, busy with a wing, “that girl is a capital servant, I dare say, and Mrs. Ventner is not fit to hold a candle to her; but I wish that she knew how to hold a candle to us! Just see!—she has forgotten to bring us any, and has left her own tallow dip, to ‘make darkness visible,’ as papa would say.”
“My dear boy,” replied Clemence quietly, “we must not look for better light here, till we have the sun himself as our candle.”
“A dip into poverty; but we’ll make light of it!” cried Vincent, the pun reconciling him to the privation. Whether exhilarated by change of air, or desirous to cheer his companion, the boy seemed disposed to make a jest of every discomfort. There was in him a buoyancy of spirit, an energy of will, which had never appeared to such advantage in the pampered child of the wealthy banker.
“But, I say, we must make ourselves a little more comfortable!” cried Vincent; “the wind blows through that window like a gale, and Martha has forgotten to close the shutters!” Up he sprang to remedy her negligence. “Why, there’s not a bit of a shutter!” he exclaimed in surprise; “nothing at all to keep the wind out!”
“I think that you will have to make some,” said Clemence.
“Make shutters!” exclaimed Vincent, look doubtful at first whether to be pleased or disgusted, but deciding at last on the former. “Well, it’s lucky I brought my tool-box. I never did anything but spoil wood as yet, but maybe I’ll turn out a capital carpenter, if I mayn’t be a cook. I’ll saw away at my shutters in the evening when I come back from my studies.” Then in a softer tone Vincent went on: “Won’t you be very dull here all alone during the day? what will you do to amuse yourself here?”
“I have provided myself, dear boy, with plenty of occupation. I found, before we left London, that you required new shirts, so I have brought a supply of the material with me that I may make them myself.”