“Is this Judy, by any chance?” asked the young man.
“Yes, it is,” said the boy.
“Your sister?”
“Not much. I say, you know!” exclaimed the youth. “Her name’s Brown. My name’s George Wimble. My father’s Captain Wimble. We live at the Court. I only made it up for her, and got old Gask the stationer to send it on.”
“I see,” said Gilead. “What was that about no moneylenders applying?”
“O! I don’t know,” said the boy. “You aren’t one, are you?”
“No, I’m not one.”
“I made it up out of the advertisements,” said Master Wimble. “They always put in that sort of thing. I did it for her.”
“Father said I might,” ventured the little girl, between apology and self-defence. “At leastways he said I might try and find a good home for him.”
“He didn’t mean that way, you bet,” said the boy, glancing slyly up at the stranger.