“Well, what’s the matter with Peter?” inquired that youth as he extended first one foot and then the other to the genial warmth of the blaze. He was sitting in an arm-chair before the fire. He was leaning back, and his hands were in his pockets. Peter was tall for his age, which was thirteen, and well developed. His hair and eyes were brown, as were those of all the family but Victoria, and he looked very much like Katherine.
“Why are you not ready? You know we want you to go to the telegraph office. There is no time to be lost, for Mr. Abbott will have gone home. It is Saturday, and you know he always leaves the office early on Saturday. Do hurry, Peter!”
All the sisters were talking at once, even Sophy adding her voice to the clamor.
“Keep cool! keep cool!” remarked Peter, continuing to warm his feet; “who’s the telegram to?”
“Mr. Abbott, you know, Peter!”
“What for?”
“To ask him to come. You have heard us talking, Peter! Surely you are not deaf. Do hurry!”
“What’s the use? You needn’t telegraph him.”
“Why not? Oh, don’t stop to argue, you dreadful boy!” cried Katherine. “Just go at once. We want Mr. Abbott.”
“Well, you’re going to get him, and I’m not going out in this storm when there’s no reason for it. Mr. Abbott is coming this afternoon.”