“No,” responded Cicely; “I can’t have those boots of yours pounding along beside me to-day, Priscilla Jane. Impossible.”
“Well, I do declare!” said Mrs. Mile, reduced in her surprise to the language of her youth. “They can’t pound much, Mrs. Morrison, in the sand; and there’s nothing but sand here.”
“They grind it down!” answered Cicely. “You can call grandpa, if you don’t want me to go alone; but come with me to-day you shall not, you clean, broad-faced, turn-out-your-toes, do-your-duty old relict of Abner Whittredge Mile.” She looked at Mrs. Mile consideringly as she said this, bringing out each word in a soft, clear tone.
The judge was listlessly roving about the beach. Mrs. Mile gave him Cicely’s request. “She is saying very odd things to-day, sir,” she added, impersonally.
The judge, alarmed, hurried to the lodge; Mrs. Mile could not keep up with him.
“Priscilla Jane is short-winded, isn’t she?” remarked Cicely, at the lodge door, as he joined her. “Whenever she comes uphill, she always stops, and pretends to admire the view, while she pants, ‘What a beautiful scene! What a privilege to see it!’”
The judge grinned; he too had heard Mrs. Mile speak of “privileges.”
“Come for a walk, grandpa,” Cicely went on. She took his arm and they went away together, followed by the careful eyes of the nurse, who had paused at the top of the ascent.
“This is a ruse, grandpa,” Cicely said, after a while. “I wanted to take a walk alone, and she wouldn’t let me; but you will.”
“Why alone, my child?”