“It’s agreed with you.”
“Well, yes, pretty well,” he said, smiling complacently; “but there, I’ve never told a soul—not even old Hopper; and fine and wild he’s been sometimes about it.”
“I should think not, indeed!”
“There, there, don’t look like that, mother,” cried Dick; “you have got such a sweet, comfortable sort of face when it’s not cross; and—there—it’s all right, isn’t it?”
It seemed to be, for Mrs Shingle smiled once more, and Dick drew a chair close to her.
“Now, look here,” he said: “I want to talk to you about Jessie.”
Mrs Shingle sighed, and laid her head upon his shoulder.
“Poor Jessie!” she said.
“Now, what’s to be done about—”
“I’m sure I don’t know.”