“It’s only me, Liza, my dear. Has she told—”
“Oh, mother! You shouldn’t,” sobbed Liza. “You won’t be happy till you’ve got me put in prison.”
“Nonsense, my dear, they won’t do that. Never you fear. Now look here. What became of that parcel you made up?”
“I don’t know; I’ve been half wild ever since, and I don’t know how it’s going to end.”
“Then I’ll tell you,” cried the old fish-woman. “You’ve got to get me that parcel, or else to make me up another.”
“I won’t; there?” cried Liza angrily.
“How dare you say won’t to your mother, miss!” said the old woman angrily. “Now look here; I’m going a bit farther on, and then I’m coming back, and I shall expect to find the napkin done up all ready. If it isn’t you’ll see.”
Liza stood with her mouth open, listening to her mother’s retiring footsteps; and then with a fresh burst of tears waiting to be wiped away, she ran in to answer the bell, and clear away, shivering the while, as she saw that Aunt Marguerite’s eyes were fixed upon her, watching every movement, and seeming to threaten to reveal what had been discovered earlier in the day.
Aunt Marguerite said nothing, however, then, for her thoughts were taken up with her project of living away for a time. She had been talking away pretty rapidly, first to one and then to the other, but rarely eliciting a reply; but at last she turned sharply upon her brother.
“How soon shall we be going, George?”