But here Virginie is firm. No amount of wrapping up would prevent Miles catching cold on so damp and rainy a day, as she knows well, by fatal experience; so the fiat has gone forth, either Humphrey will go alone, or both will stay at home.
"Don't go," pleaded little Miles, as they pressed their faces against the window; "it will be so dull all alone with Virginie."
"She's a cross old thing," muttered Humphrey; "but never mind, Miles, I won't go without you, and we'll count the raindrops on the window to make the time pass quick."
This interesting employment had the desired effect, and the next half-hour soon slipped by. Indeed, it was so engrossing, that the dog-cart came up the avenue, and was nearly at the hall door, before the little boys perceived it.
"Qu'est-ce que c'est donc!" exclaimed Virginie, startled by Humphrey's jump from the window-sill to the floor.
"C'est mon père," was all the information he vouchsafed her, as he rushed out of the room.
"M. votre père! Attendez done que je vous arrange un peu les cheveux."
She spoke to the winds: nothing was heard of Humphrey but sundry bumps and jumps in the distance, which told of his rapid descent down the stairs.
The more tardy Miles was caught and brushed, in spite of his struggles, and then he was off to join his brother.