"No, but really," goes on the boy, not to be suppressed, "it will be an awful shame to take it all to pieces. Why, I declare I never knew Hugh to work at anything so hard before."
"Nor I," mutters Regy, glancing at his brother, who is leaning up against the mantel-piece staring gloomily at the object of discussion.
"Well, Molly knows best," he remarks decidedly, "so it's no use discussing it any longer. Who's got a pair of sharp scissors or a knife or something? Mother, you will help us take it to pieces, won't you?"
"And you and I and Colonel Danvers will soon have it together again when once we get it in there," says Molly, jerking her head in the direction of the next house. "O, good gracious, what's this?" she exclaims, as she trips up over some hard object sticking out from under the shoe.
"Why, it's one of the supports—wood, you know," explains Ted, nodding solemnly at Molly. "You weren't such a goose as to think cardboard would stand up in that way alone, were you?"
"Where are your manners, Ted?" puts in Hugh. "Molly, did you hurt yourself? Come round, and let me show you the whole concern."
The "whole concern" having been duly admired, and all its points of beauty expatiated on, they all set to work, and in a very short time the shoe is once more in three distinct pieces; and while the boys are busily taking the laces out with elaborate care, Molly, thoroughly at home in the house, as indeed are all the girls, strolls out of the room and down the passage to a little room at the end—Hugh's private sanctum and study.
"Study, indeed!" thinks Molly to herself as she stands looking scornfully round; for the room, it must be confessed, does not suggest the idea of any very violent mental work going on within its four walls. Books there are in plenty, certainly: good, substantial, solid reading too; but there they are, comfortably reposing on their shelves, "looking," as Molly says to herself, "as if they had not been touched for the last six weeks." She has just marched up to the books in question, and is in the act of drawing her finger along their dusty backs, when Hugh puts his head in at the door.
"Now, Miss Molly, what are you doing in my study?" he demands, "and what are you turning up that elegant little nose about? Come, what's wrong, eh?" And crossing over hastily, he reaches the girl's side just in time to see her finish writing with her finger the word "dust" in large capital letters.
"That is what is wrong," she says, turning round slowly and facing the young fellow; "d-u-s-t, dust! A fine study indeed!" she continues, glancing round contemptuously. "Look how painfully tidy the rest of the room is! My goodness, you should just see our school-room when we are in the thick of our lessons and really mean business! Doris and I get covered with ink, and our hair gets all rumpled up, and sometimes we stick pens into it without knowing. Honor knits her brows and frowns away like anything, and Miss Denison's voice is several degrees more severe than usual. Oh, I assure you we look tragic when we really are working! I should like to know, now, what use it is your going to Sandhurst," she continues severely, "when you never so much as open a book at home? Ah! you are a lazy fellow, Hugh; and I don't believe you will ever pass all your exams. If you ever do get into the army (which I very much doubt) it will be by the backdoor, I verily believe."