“My word! Isn’t the old girl quick at putting on her hat and scarf! She’s safe for the day. Bravo, old Trimmer! Just when I was done up for an idea to slope off. Fish rising? Yes, I’ll rise ’em. Cookie’ll have hard work to fry all the trout I catch to-day. Phew! There goes another brake. Blow up, you beauty! Why, auntie would have just met them tittuping along. They must have scared the ponies into fits. She can’t half hold them.”
He turned from the window, listening the while, though, to the rattle of wheels and the trotting of horses down the road, and after a glance at the door, through which the little maid had passed, he drew a note from his pocket and began to spell it over in a low voice.
“‘My dear darling Syd’—why, this is three days old. I didn’t notice it before—‘Here’s nearly a week and you haven’t been to see me. Do come. I want to say something so particular. If you don’t come before, of course you’ll be at the races. I’ve got a new frock’—frock without a k—‘new frock for the occasion’—Ha, ha! What a rum little gipsy she is! Put the k she dropped in frock into occasion—‘I say, do tell your aunt and uncle all the truth’—Likely!—‘and then I can tell dear dad’—Jigger dear dad!—‘I feel so wicked. He must know soon.’—What did she put two thick lines under that for?—‘That’s all now, because the dressmaker’—with only one s—‘has come to try on my frock. I say, do tell your dear aunt. She’ll be awfully cross at first, but when she knows all—that’s all, dear.—Your affeckshunt for ever and ever, Lar Sylphide’—Lar la—Yar! Yar! Tell auntie—phew! Talk about all the fat in the fire, and me with it. Uncle’s parlous state won’t be nothing to mine. Ugh!”
The boy jumped as if he had received a blow, and turned towards the window. For the door was opened suddenly and Jane reappeared.
“Not gone then, Impidence?”
“No, I’m not gone yet, Saucebox. Why don’t you tell my aunt?”
“Never you mind. What was that you were scuffling into your jacket pocket? Worms for fishing?”
“Of course.”
“Was it? I know better. I heered the paper crackle; it’s another letter for her.”
“What!” cried the boy, changing colour. “What her?”