And Miss Polly kept a firm hold upon his arm.
The judge yielded.
VII.
“SEA-BEACHES,” said Eve,—“the minds of such people; you can trace the line of their last high tide, that is, the year when they stopped reading. Along the judge’s line, one finds, for instance, Rogers; he really has no idea that there have been any new poets since then.”
“Dear me! We have always thought Horatio remarkably literary,” protested Cousin Sarah Cray. “That’s his step now, I think.”
The judge came in, little Jack on his shoulder. “I believe he has dropped some—some portions of his clothing on the stairs,” he said, helplessly. “It’s astonishing—the facility he has.”
“And he has pulled off his shoes,” added Eve, taking the little reprobate and kissing him. “Naughty Jack. Tacks!”
“Esss, tacks!” repeated Jack, in high glee. “Dey gets in Jack’s foots.” That was all he cared for her warning legend.
The judge sat down and wiped his forehead. “I have received a shock,” he said.