‘And for whom are you working so industriously, may I ask?’ he inquired benignly.
‘It’s for my sister–I mean the baby,’ stammered Mary, much flustered at being thus singled out. The Canon felt a little perplexed, not having supposed Mary Wells or her sister to belong to what he largely called ‘the poor’; and he passed on hurriedly to where the six culprits stood first on one leg and then on the other, trying to stitch at their work with wavering and unsteadied fingers.
‘Dear me!’ he said, slightly taken aback.
‘Dear me!’ he said, slightly taken aback. ‘Is it–is it quite usual–I mean, do you find it convenient to perform your–your embroidery in that exceedingly arduous position?’
The six girls edged up to one another; and more giggles, very nervous ones this time, greeted the Canon’s remark. He put on his eye-glasses, and began slowly to grasp the meaning of their uncomfortable position.
‘Ah!’ he said, with a knowing smile. ‘So you have done something you shouldn’t, eh, my dears? Shocking, shocking! Let us see what the cause of offence is, and perhaps we can get the punishment mitigated for you. How would that be, eh?’
He turned to look for Miss Smythe, and the six put their heads together for a hasty, whispered consultation.
‘Let’s tell him it’s through his sermon,’ urged Barbara, all agog with mischief. ‘It would be such fun!’