"Gerald!" Angel exclaimed, looking positively shocked at the idea. "You really can't mean it."
"Why not? I believe Uncle Edward has plenty of money; I'm sure he'd willingly give me a shilling or two if you asked him. He's awfully fond of you, he is indeed."
"Oh, I couldn't ask him. Think of all he has done for us; how he managed and paid for everything when father was ill, and how he has brought us to this beautiful place. Oh, I couldn't ask him for money! How can you suggest it? It would be dreadful. It would seem so greedy after all his kindness."
Angel spoke so emphatically that her brother saw it was useless to argue the matter. He stood with his hands thrust into his trousers' pockets, kicking the small pebbles in the path, his face a picture of discontent. He considered his sister very unkind and disobliging; but he had no intention of putting his petition to his uncle himself.
"Never mind," Angel said consolingly after a few minutes' silence, during which she had reflected that probably Gerald did not mean to be greedy, "you will have your usual pocket-money from father on Monday. It will not be long to wait till then. What are you going to put in your garden?" she inquired, with the laudable desire of changing the conversation to a pleasanter subject.
"I don't know that I shall till it up at all. I don't much care for gardening—it's too much work."
"But I thought you told Uncle Edward you wanted a piece of ground for yourself?"
"I've changed my mind. I don't care about it now."
Gerald was evidently in a bad temper, recognizing which fact, Angel wisely held her peace, and continued her work in silence.
"It's a nuisance father has asked Gilbert Mickle here this afternoon," said the boy presently in a grumbling tone. "I don't like him a bit, do you?"