“There, if you are in that kind of temper, Joseph, it is of no use for me to speak to you. I’ll be down directly; but won’t Sage come up?”
“No, I’ve made her lie down on the sofa by the fire. She’s worn out, and the little ones are fast asleep. I’ve told the girls to hurry on the breakfast.”
“But how foolish of her to travel in the night. How did they come from the station?”
“A man brought them in a cart. Poor things! they are half perished.”
“Dear, dear, dear, dear me,” said Mrs Portlock, hastily dressing. “What troubles there are in this world.”
“Yes, if people make ’em.”
“But what is wrong with Cyril?”
“Oh, nothing particular,” said the Churchwarden, bitterly, “only he’s in trouble again.”
“In trouble?”
“Yes, in trouble. Don’t shout about it and frighten the poor girl more.”