CHAPTER XII.
THE SORRY-PRESENT AND THE EXPELLED LITTLE BOY
“Look here, said Cyril, sitting on the dining-table and swinging his legs; “I really have got it.”
“Got what?” was the not unnatural rejoinder of the others.
Cyril was making a boat with a penknife and a piece of wood, and the girls were making warm frocks for their dolls, for the weather was growing chilly.
“Why, don’t you see? It’s really not any good our going into the Past looking for that Amulet. The Past’s as full of different times as—as the sea is of sand. We’re simply bound to hit upon the wrong time. We might spend our lives looking for the Amulet and never see a sight of it. Why, it’s the end of September already. It’s like looking for a needle in—”
“A bottle of hay—I know,” interrupted Robert; “but if we don’t go on doing that, what ARE we to do?”
“That’s just it,” said Cyril in mysterious accents. “Oh, bother!”
Old Nurse had come in with the tray of knives, forks, and glasses, and was getting the tablecloth and table-napkins out of the chiffonier drawer.
“It’s always meal-times just when you come to anything interesting.”
“And a nice interesting handful you’d be, Master Cyril,” said old Nurse, “if I wasn’t to bring your meals up to time. Don’t you begin grumbling now, fear you get something to grumble at.”