“I must go and see about the children,” said Flora; “if the tea comes while I am gone, will you make it, Ritchie?”
“Flora despairs of me,” said Ethel.
“I don’t,” said Richard. “Have you forgotten how to put in a pin yet?”
“No; I hope not.”
“Well, then, see if you can’t learn to make tea; and, by-the-bye, Ethel, which is the next christening Sunday?”
“The one after next, surely. The first of December is Monday—yes, to-morrow week is the next.”
“Then I have thought of something; it would cost eighteenpence to hire Joliffe’s spring-cart, and we might have Mrs. Taylor and the twins brought to church in it. Should you like to walk to Cocksmoor and settle it?”
“Oh yes, very much indeed. What a capital thought. Margaret said you would know how to manage.”
“Then we will go the first fine day papa does not want me.”
“I wonder if I could finish my purple frocks. But here’s the tea. Now, Richard, don’t tell me to make it. I should do something wrong, and Flora will never forgive you.”