Chapter Thirty One.
The General pressed so hard that my mother and my uncle remained at his place for a couple of days longer, driving over in the General’s carriage on the third day to say good-bye to me before returning home, and, to Mercer’s great delight, a packet was placed in his hand after he had been fetched, with strict orders not to look at it till the carriage had gone. I already had one in my pocket, and in addition a smaller one that I was charged to deliver elsewhere.
Then the farewell was said, and, as soon as the carriage was out of sight, I looked at Mercer, he at me, and with a unity of purpose that was not surprising, we rushed off to the yard and up the rough steps to the loft, where we laid our packets down, and hesitated to cut the strings.
Again we looked at each other, and Mercer at last said huskily,—
“Hadn’t we better open ’em? I am hungry, but they’re rather small and square for cakes.”
“Get out!” I said. “Cakes indeed! Here, let’s see.”
“Whose shall we open first?” whispered Mercer.
“Yours.”
“No, yours.”
“Both together then.”