“Ha, ha, ha!” rang out a merry laugh.
“Look at Sir Dismal, pausing thoughtfully beneath the trees.”
Charley looked up, to see peering down upon him, from between the bushes on the high bank, the bright merry face of Nelly, with her hair tangled, her straw hat bent of brim, and a general aspect about her hot face and tumbled clothes of having been tearing through a wood.
“What, my little dryad!” laughed out Charley, brightening in an instant. “How is the little wood-nymph?”
“O, so jolly hot and tired, Charley! I’ve cut away from them, run up the bank, and scampered through Bosky Dell, and tore my dress ever so many times. But I wasn’t going to stay; at least, I ought to have stayed,” she added thoughtfully, “but I felt as if I couldn’t, for old Max would have made me ill—he would, bai Jove!” she laughed, mocking her brother’s drawl with all accuracy which delighted Charley.
“Been having a walk?” he said.
“Walk, yes,” exclaimed Nelly; “and one can’t stir without stupid old Max coming boring after us, bothering Miss Bedford to death with his drawling nonsense. She hates him, and he will follow us about, because he has grown so fond of his little sisters. But, I say, Charley Vining, do give me—no, not give, lend me sixpence to buy some sweets. We spent every halfpenny, and it isn’t pocket-money till to-morrow night.”
“I never give money to beggars at the roadside,” laughed Charley, who seemed somehow to be brightening up under his young friend’s revelations.
“Now don’t be a nuisance,” laughed Nelly, “or I’ll tease you. I know why you were looking down the lane so miserably; it was because Max was along with—”
“Hold your tongue, do, you saucy puss!” roared Charley, with flaming face. “How dare you!”