“Mind your own business, and I’ll mind mine!” cried Walter.
“Alack! alack!” lamented Deborah, as she hastily retreated down stairs, Charlie running after her. “Mistress Rose is gone clean demented with trouble, and that is the worst that has befallen this poor house yet.”
“There!” said Lucy, as soon as she was gone; “I have held my tongue this time. O Walter, you don’t do it a bit like Rose!”
“Where is Rose!” said Eleanor. “How did you get out?”
“Well!” said Walter, “it is hard that, whatever we do, women and babies are mixed up with it. I must trust you since you have found me out, but mind, Lucy, not one word or look that can lead anyone to guess what I am telling you. Edmund is safe out of this house, Rose is gone with him—’tis safest not to say where.”
“But is not she coming back?” asked Eleanor.
“Oh yes, very soon—to-day, or to-morrow perhaps. So I am Rose till she comes back, and little did I guess what I was undertaking! I never was properly thankful till now that I was not born a woman!”
“Oh don’t stride along so, or they will find you out,” exclaimed Eleanor.
“And don’t mince and amble, that is worse!” added Lucy. “Oh you will make me laugh in spite of everything.”
“Pshaw! I shall shut myself into my—her room, and see nobody!” said Walter; “you must keep Charlie off, Lucy, and don’t let Deb drive me distracted. I dare say, if necessary, I can fool it enough for the rebels, who never spoke to a gentlewoman in their lives.”