“Think so?” said Will Jackson, quite calmly.
“Well, you’re a queer fellow!” said Fortune.
“Hold you there!” was the reply; “I shall be queerer anon.”
The Monday was a very busy day, for Mrs Jane proposed to set forth with the lark on the Tuesday morning. She had obtained a pass from the Parliament for herself and friends, and four others were to accompany her; her cousin Mr Lascelles, and his wife, and a neighbouring lady and gentleman named Petre. Jenny was very busy all day packing trunks and bags under the instructions of her young mistress. In the afternoon, as they were thus employed, Mrs Lane came rather hastily into the room.
“Jane, child,” she said to her daughter, “I am really concerned that you should have no better attendance in your journey than that fellow Jackson. I do indeed think we must send him back, and get you a more suitable man.”
Mrs Jane was on her knees, packing a little leather trunk. She looked up for a moment, and then resumed her work, giving all her attention to a troublesome box, which would not fit into the space that she had left for it.
“Is he unsuitable, madam? I pray you, how so?”
“Child, the man doth not know his business. He is now in the yard, looking to your saddle and harness; and he doth not know how to take the collar off the horse. Dick bade him lift the collar off Bay Winchester, and he was for taking it off without turning it. And really, some of his—”
The sentence was never finished.
“O, Madam! O, Mrs Jane!” cried Millicent, coming in with uplifted hands. “That horrid creature. I’m certain sure he’s a Roundhead! Robin has heard him speak such dreadful words! Do, I beseech you, madam, tell the Colonel that he is cherishing a crocodile in his bosom. We shall all be murdered in our beds before night!”