And Mrs Wade walked out of the door without saying another word. She was going to look for the children. The baby she had already seen asleep on Ursula’s bed. Little Will she found in the midst of a group of boys down by the brook, one of whom, a lad twice his size, was just about to fight him when Mrs Wade came up.
“Now, Jack Tyler, if thou dost not want to be carried to thy father by the scuff of thy neck, like a cat, and well thrashed to end with, let that lad alone.—Will, where’s thy sister?”
Little Will, who looked rather sheepish, said,—
“Over there.”
“Where’s there?”
“On the stile. She’s always there when we’re out, except she’s looking after me.”
“Thou lackest looking after.”
“Philip Tye said he’d see to me: and then he went off with Jem Morris, bird-nesting.”
“Cruel lads! well, you’re a proper lot! It’d do you good, and me too, to give you a caning all round. I shall have to let be to-night, for I want to find Cicely.”
“Well, you’ll see her o’ top o’ the stile.”