"Oh, don't move it, please, father," I said. "It will do so nicely for me to lie in when I go there."
"So it's going to be your den as well as theirs, is it, young man? And, pray, what do you think we shall feel like when we come into this room and see your empty sofa?"
Glancing at father, to see how much he meant, I fancied that there was a merry twinkle in his eye. At all events, I am certain that we had a brighter dinner than we generally had, and I remember particularly that I asked for a second helping of meat.
"What shall I bring you from Colchester?" said father, after dinner. "I am going to try the new mare, and I'll bring you back anything you like to name up to five shillings."
"There's a new book of Kingston's, father—I forget the title—if you wouldn't mind getting that. I have nearly finished Rupert and the Redskins."
"Oh, no more books," said father, impatiently. "I'd like to burn the lot of them. I'd rather buy you a cricket bat. There, don't look miserable, laddie. You shall have the book, but I'd give a five-pound note to hear you say, 'Take me with you in the dog-cart.' Now, good-bye. I shan't be starting for another hour, till the tide is down, but I don't suppose you will see me again before I go. Shall I send a telegram to Bath to say the youngsters can come? Perhaps they will like to look forward to it. And is there anything else you want, to rig up their den?"
We both laughed, and mother said something about believing father would be delighted to see the savages after all.
"Oh! I don't care, as long as you keep them out of my way. I'll bring them a couple of boxes of soldiers; that's sure to keep them quiet for a time."
"Girls don't like soldiers," I remarked.
"Don't they, though, if they have half a dozen brothers and no sister. I suppose you'd like me to buy Miss Kathleen a workbox, and she wouldn't know which finger to put the thimble on, I'll be bound. What on earth is that?"