Julia offered no response. They walked through the village in silence which was broken only by an occasional remark from Mittie, scarcely heard. "Tell Jesus—why don't you tell Jesus?" sounded in Julia's ears like some exquisite refrain, and she would have liked to ask, "Why should I? Would He care to hear?" —but the utmost she could resolve to say was, after they had entered the Hall grounds, "Sometimes you can talk to me about what you learn from Miss Fitzalan."
"Oh, may I? Yes, I'll talk lots. Marjory won't mind."
"Marjory need not know. I don't want you to be chattering about me to her—making her think that I am not happy," Julia said, with questionable prudence, considering the age of her little companion. "Mittie, what did you mean just now by saying that you knew quite well why—"
Julia hesitated how to express herself, but Mittie caught up the sentence with cheerful promptitude.
"Oh, I only meant, Aunt Julia, that when you're not happy it's because of Uncle Harvey being such a naughty man."
"Nonsense, Mittie! What are you thinking about?" cried Julia, indignant at the suggestion.
"I know! Old Sutton told me yesterday."
"Told you what?"
"About Uncle Harvey. He's got all cousin Hermione's money, and it is very wicked of him." Julia was for the moment voiceless, and Mittie proceeded calmly, "Old Sutton says cousin Hermione bears it like an angel, and everybody is so very sorry for her, and nobody likes Uncle Harvey. And I don't like him neither, not near so much as I did, and I think I won't let him kiss me so often."
"Mittie! for shame! You don't know what you are saying!" Julia panted rather than said. She could almost have shaken the child, yet she restrained herself, not even setting free the little hand which she held. Mittie was unaware of her wrath.