‘Then mind you don’t jerk me back at the crossings.’
There are few pleasures greater of their kind than that of the youthful country cousin under the safe escort of a brother or father in London streets. The sisters looked in at windows, wondered and enjoyed, till they had to own their feet worn out, and submit to a four-wheeler.
‘An hour of London is more than a month of Rockquay, or a year of Silverfold,’ cried Gillian.
‘Dear old Silverfold,’ said Mysie; ‘when shall we go back?’
‘By the bye,’ said Harry, ‘how about the great things that were to be done for mother?’
‘Primrose is all right,’ said Mysie. ‘The dear little thing has written a nice copybook, and hemmed a whole set of handkerchiefs for papa. She is so happy with them.’
‘And you, little Mouse?’
‘I have done my translation—not quite well, I am afraid, and made the little girl’s clothes. I wonder if I may go and take them to her.’
‘And Val has finished her crewel cushion, thanks to the aunts,’ said Gillian.
‘Fergus’s machine, how about that? Perpetual motion, wasn’t it?’