“Must not?” and Arthur looked up in amazement to the boy so much taller than his three brothers, creatures in his eyes privileged to do what they pleased.
“His mamma won’t let him,” was Dick’s polite answer. Fred could have knocked him down with the greatest satisfaction, but in the first place he was out of reach, in the second, the young ladies were present, in the third he was a little boy, and a stupid one, and Fred had temper enough left to see that there would be nothing gained by quarrelling with him, so contenting himself with a secret but most ardent wish that he had him as his fag at school, he turned to Jessie, and asked her what she thought of the weather, if the white frost would bring rain, &c., &c.
Jessie thought the morning too bright not to be doubtful, and the hoar frost was so very thick and white that it was not likely to continue much longer.
“How beautiful these delicate white crests are to every thorn in the hedge!” said Henrietta; “and look, these pieces of chalk are almost cased in glass.”
“O I do love such a sight!” said Jessie. “Here is a beautiful bit of stick crusted over.”
“It is a perfect little Giant’s Causeway,” said Henrietta; “do look at these lovely little columns, Fred.”
“Ah!” said Jessie, “Myriads of little salts, or hook’d or shaped like double wedges.—”
She thought Beatrice safe out of hearing, but that very moment by she came, borne swiftly along, and catching the cadence of that one line, looked archly at Fred, and shaped with her lips rather than uttered—“O Jemmy Thomson! Jemmy Thomson, O!”
It filled up the measure. That Beatrice, Alexander and Chorus should be making him a laughing-stock, and him pinned to Miss Carey’s side, was more than he could endure. He had made up his mind that Uncle Geoffrey was not coming at all, his last feeble hold of patience and obedience gave way, and he exclaimed, “Well, I shan’t wait any longer, it is not of the least use.”
“O, Fred, consider!” said his sister.