CHAPTER V
THE FRIGHT OF MILLIKINS-PILLIKINS
For another moment there was utter silence in the cottage. Even the Dame’s calmness forsook her, the absurd performance of her bald-headed husband making her ashamed of him. She had seen the Lady Principal passing along the road beyond the lane but had never met her so closely, and she felt that the mistress of Oak Knowe was high above common mortals.
However, as the flush died out of Miss Tross-Kingdon’s face Mrs. Gilpin’s ordinary manner returned and she advanced in welcome.
“You do us proud, madam, by this call. Pray come in and be seated.”
“Yes, yes, do!” cried John, interrupting. “I’ll just step-an’-fetch the arm-chair out o’ Robin’s room. ’Twas carried there for his mother to rest in. She—”
The mortified old fellow was vainly trying to put back the smock he had so recklessly discarded and without which he never felt fully dressed. He hated a coat and wore one only on Sundays, at church. But his frantic efforts to don this garment but added to his own discomfiture, for he slipped it on backwards, the buttons behind, grimacing fiercely at his failure to fasten them.
One glance toward him set all the young folks laughing, he looked so comical, and even the dignified caller was forced to smile.
“Don’t see what’s so terrible funny as to send ye all into a tee-hee’s-nest! but if so be you do, why giggle away and get shut of it!” testily cried the poor old man. To have been caught “making a fool of himself” was a “bitter pill” for him to swallow; having always prided himself upon his correct deportment.