“Hush!” said Spikeman, putting up his finger, as he raised himself on his elbow.
The party evidently advanced nearer to them, and carolled in very beautiful tones, the song of Ariel:—
“Where the bee sucks, there lurk I,
In the cowslip’s bell I lie,” etcetera.
“Heigho!” exclaimed a soft voice, after the song had been finished; “I wish I could creep into a cowslip-bell. Miss Araminta, you are not coming down the walk yet; it appears you are in no hurry, so I’ll begin my new book.”
After this soliloquy there was silence. Spikeman made a sign to Joey to remain still, and then, creeping on his hands and knees, by degrees arrived as far as he could venture to the other side of the copse.
In a minute or two another footstep was heard coming down the gravel-walk, and soon afterwards another voice.
“Well, Melissa, did you think I never would come? I could not help it. Uncle would have me rub his foot a little.”
“Ay, there’s the rub,” replied the first young lady. “Well, it was a sacrifice of friendship at the altar of humanity. Poor papa! I wish I could rub his foot for him; but I always do it to a quadrille tune, and he always says I rub it too hard. I only follow the music.”
“Yes, and so does he; for you sometimes set him a dancing, you giddy girl.”
“I am not fit for a nurse, and that’s the fact, Araminta. I can feel for him, but I cannot sit still a minute; that you know. Poor mamma was a great loss; and, when she died, I don’t know what I should have done, if it hadn’t been for my dear cousin Araminta.”