Green was going to say “howl,” but he illustrated his meaning by uttering a cry wonderfully like that sent forth by a cat under similar circumstances.
“What’s that?” cried the usher.
“I trod on Green’s foot by accident, sir,” said Nic.
“Green should not leave his feet lying about all over the floor,” said the usher, trying to be facetious, and then looking satisfied, for his joke was received with a roar, which was increased at the sight of Green’s ghastly smile as Nic went out of the schoolroom.
“That’s birch for him,” he muttered, as he passed through the baize door, which shut out the noise of the school from the rest of the house; and the boy drew a deep breath as he crossed the hall toward the study, connected in his mind with scoldings and reproofs of the severest kind. “What have I been doing now?” thought Nic, as he laid hold of the handle after knocking and hearing a deep-toned “Come in.”
Then he started and stared, for there was a fine-looking middle-aged lady seated near the doctor’s table, who turned to look at him searchingly as he stopped short.
“I beg pardon, sir. You sent for me?”
“Yes, yes, Braydon: come in. This is Lady O’Hara.”
“Yes, I’m Lady O’Hara. Look at that, now. A great strapping fellow! And he told Sir John that it was his little boy.”
Nic stared, for this was spoken loudly, in a pleasant rich voice, with an intonation that decidedly fitted with the name.