“Mind,” said Richard, stopping short, “I’ll have nothing to do with it except on condition you are patient, and hold your tongue about it.”
“I think I can, if I may talk to Margaret.”
“Oh yes, to Margaret of course. We could not settle anything without her help.”
“And I know what she will say,” said Ethel. “Oh, I am so glad,” and she jumped over three puddles in succession.
“And, Ethel, you must learn to keep your frock out of the dirt.”
“I’ll do anything, if you’ll help me at Cocksmoor.”
CHAPTER IX.
For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays,
Are the blocks which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these,
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.—LONGFELLOW.
When Ethel came home, burning with the tidings of the newly-excited hopes for Cocksmoor, they were at once stopped by Margaret eagerly saying, “Is Richard come in? pray call him;” then on his entrance, “Oh, Richard, would you be so kind as to take this to the bank. I don’t like to send it by any one else—it is so much;” and she took from under her pillows a velvet bag, so heavy, that it weighed down her slender white hand.