“Well?” said my father, in the cold, stern way in which he generally spoke then; “what is it?”
“Tell him, Sarah,” I heard Morgan whisper, for I had gone up to put my hand in hers.
“For shame!” she said; “it’s you who ought.”
“Now look you,” said Morgan, who was a Welshman, and spoke very Welshy sometimes, “didn’t you just go and promise to help and obey? And the first thing I tells you to do you kicks.”
“I am very busy,” said my father. “If you two want a holiday, say so.”
“Holiday, sir? Not us,” said Morgan, in a hesitating way. “We don’t want no holiday, sir, only we felt like as it was our dooty to tell you what—”
“To tell me what?”
“Yes, sir; seeing as we were going out to a savage country, where you’ve got to do everything yourself before you can have it, and as there’d be no parsons and churches, we thought we’d get it done decent and ’spectable here first.”
“My good fellow, what do you mean?” said my father.
“Why, what I’ve been telling of you, sir. Sarah says—”