“Shadows can’t carry parcels,” said Jessie merrily.
“This one can, and will.”
“There, go along, do, both of you,” said Mrs Shingle, whose eyes twinkled with pleasure as she looked on Tom’s eager face. “You’ll be dreadfully late.”
“All right,” cried Tom joyfully; “we’ll make haste, and if we are going to be late we’ll take a cab.”
“Because we are ashamed of the parcel,” said Jessie demurely.
“Ashamed!” cried Tom. “Why, if you’ll come with me I’ll take the parcel under one arm and you under the other, and walk all round the quadrangle at Somerset House when the clerks are leaving, just to make them all envious.”
“Go along, do!” cried Mrs Shingle. And she stood gazing after them as there was a playful struggle for the parcel at the door; while, as they disappeared, the plump little woman took up her shoe-binding, began stitching, and sighed—
“Heigho! I’m afraid I’ve done very wrong.”