“Dictator, now,” said Letty, with injured looks, and not without a wish to make her mother repent.
“Very well, dictator!” said Ben, contemptuously. “But that isn’t a good word: he didn’t tell them to write on slates.”
“Come, come, Ben, you are not so ignorant as that,” said Mrs. Garth, carefully serious. “Hark, there is a knock at the door! Run, Letty, and open it.”
The knock was Fred’s; and when Letty said that her father was not in yet, but that her mother was in the kitchen, Fred had no alternative. He could not depart from his usual practice of going to see Mrs. Garth in the kitchen if she happened to be at work there. He put his arm round Letty’s neck silently, and led her into the kitchen without his usual jokes and caresses.
Mrs. Garth was surprised to see Fred at this hour, but surprise was not a feeling that she was given to express, and she only said, quietly continuing her work—
“You, Fred, so early in the day? You look quite pale. Has anything happened?”
“I want to speak to Mr. Garth,” said Fred, not yet ready to say more—“and to you also,” he added, after a little pause, for he had no doubt that Mrs. Garth knew everything about the bill, and he must in the end speak of it before her, if not to her solely.
“Caleb will be in again in a few minutes,” said Mrs. Garth, who imagined some trouble between Fred and his father. “He is sure not to be long, because he has some work at his desk that must be done this morning. Do you mind staying with me, while I finish my matters here?”
“But we needn’t go on about Cincinnatus, need we?” said Ben, who had taken Fred’s whip out of his hand, and was trying its efficiency on the cat.
“No, go out now. But put that whip down. How very mean of you to whip poor old Tortoise! Pray take the whip from him, Fred.”