“Yes, but supposing something knocked the cart over, or supposing—oh, hundreds of things; so you may just wheel him down the road in sight of the house sometimes.”
And Willie said that was very tame.
CHAPTER XXV.
NEW PEOPLE.
The weeks sped by. Sometimes the children would say the time dragged. At others they wouldn’t have half enough time, and wished the days were twenty-four, instead of twelve, hours long. It just depended upon the mood they were in whether the time dragged or flew.
Every Tuesday afternoon they did the week’s darning, and would sit out on the verandah, with the darning basket or other mending, and work away, sometimes grumbling, sometimes laughing and talking or listening to Miss Gibson’s stories or reading.
“I don’t know why we wear stockings,” said Eileen one day, as she mended an exceptionally big tear in Baby’s sock. “We ought to wear leggings—yes, leather leggings; and there’d be none of this old stitch, stitch, stitching. Do you hear, Baby?—you’ll have to get a little pair of leather leggings made at the saddler’s.”
Baby roared, and declared she “wouldn’t wear ’em, an’ she was tightened of the tadder,” and was just going off into fresh cries of grief, till Eileen assured her that she would let her off.
“But, all the same, it would be a good idea,” she went on, digging the needle into her sewing. “I’m sure it would be lovely to run about without boots and socks——”
“What about bindies?” asked Doris, triumphantly.
“Oh, well! people’d only have to use their eyes,” said Eileen, coolly. “Anyhow, I’m sick of mending and darning and patching—I’d like to live in trees like the Swiss Family Robinsons——”