“Are you, Peter!”
“Am I? Course I am. A man can’t help liking a boy as can fight like you.”
Matters were growing harder for Dexter indoors now that his departure was so near. Mrs Millett was particularly anxious about him; and so sure as the boy went up to his room in the middle of the day, it was to find the old housekeeper on her knees, and her spectacles carefully balanced, trying all his buttons to see if they were fast.
“Now I’m going to put you up two bottles of camomile tea, and pack them in the bottom of your box, with an old coffee-cup without a handle. It just holds the right quantity, and you’ll promise me, won’t you, Master Dexter, to take a dose regularly twice a week!”
“Yes; I’ll promise you,” said Dexter.
“Now, that’s a good boy,” cried the old lady, getting up and patting his shoulder. “Look here,” she continued, leading him to the box by the drawers, “I’ve put something else in as well.”
She lifted up a layer of linen, all scented with lavender, and showed him a flat, round, brown-paper parcel.
“It’s not a very rich cake,” she said, “but there are plenty of currants and peel in, and I’m sure it’s wholesome.”
Even Maria became very much interested in Master Dexter’s boots and shoes, and the parting from the doctor’s house for the second time promised to be very hard.
It grew harder as the time approached, for, with the gentleness of an elder sister, Helen exercised plenty of supervision over the preparation. Books, a little well-filled writing-case and a purse, were among the things she added.