“Nobody. I thought you hated boys who wait to be told.”
“And now you’ll get the whooping-cough, and goodness knows what will happen to you, and you needn’t think I’ll be sorry!”
“Who wants you to be sorry! As for you,” Taffy went on sturdily, “I think your grandfather might have more sense than to keep you waiting out here in the cold, and giving your cough to the whole town!”
“Ha! you do, do you?”
It was not the girl who said this. Taffy swung round, and saw an old man staring down on him. There was just light enough to reveal that he had very formidable grey eyes. But Taffy’s blood was up.
“Yes, I do,” he said, and wondered at himself.
“Ha! Does your father whip you sometimes?”
“No, sir.”
“I should if you were my boy. I believe in it. Come, Honoria!”
The child threw a glance at Taffy as she was led away. He could not be sure whether she took his side or her grandfather’s.