Two mornings later, Taffy, looking out from his bedroom window soon after daybreak, saw the prophet trudging along the road. He had a clean white bag slung across his shoulder; it carried his soap and razors, no doubt. And every now and then he waved his walking-stick and skipped as he went.
[2] Loading vessels from the jetties.
CHAPTER X.
A HAPPY DAY.
A volley of sand darkened and shook the pane. Taffy, sponging himself in his tub and singing between his gasps, looked up hastily, then flung a big towel about him and ran to the window.
Honoria was standing below; and Comedy, her gray pony, with a creel and a couple of fishing rods strapped to his canvas girth.
“Wake up! I’ve come to take you fishing.”
Mr. Raymond had started off at daybreak to walk to Truro on business; so there would be no lessons that morning, and Taffy had been looking forward to a lonely whole holiday.
“I’ve brought two pasties,” said Honoria, “and a bottle of milk. We’ll go over to George’s country and catch trout. He is to meet us at Vellingey Bridge. We arranged it all yesterday, only I kept it for a surprise.”
Taffy could have leapt for joy. “Go in and speak to mother,” he said; “she’s in the kitchen.”
Honoria hitched Comedy’s bridle over the gate, walked up the barren little garden, and knocked at the door. When Mrs. Raymond opened it she held out a hand politely.