“Ay, ay, I’ll do it,” he said, chuckling as he mastered the contents. “Don’t you hurry, my pet. I don’t often use a pen now. But I used to at one time, and there wasn’t many as—”
“Oh, do go on writing, gran’fa! Quick, quick! I want to get back.”
“Ay, ay, I’ll do it,” said the old man; and he devoted himself assiduously to his task to the end.
“There!” he said; “will that help you, Dally?”
“Yes, gran’fa, dear,” she cried. “But you won’t tell.”
“Tell?” he cried with a chuckle. “Nay, I never tell. I’m as close as the holes I dig, Dally. No one won’t know from me.”
As he chuckled and talked, the girl hastily tore up the first note, and refolded and enclosed the second. Moistening the envelope flap with her little red tongue, which looked quite pretty and flower-like, as it darted from her petally lips to the poisonous gum, with a sharp “good-bye!” she thrust the envelope into her book, and the book into her pocket, to hurry back to the Rectory, conscious that she was followed by Joe Chegg, and never once turning her head.
That night Salis sat by the shaded lamp, apparently reading, but a good deal troubled about North, respecting whom he had heard several disquieting rumours. Mary was busily working, and Leo finishing a letter to some relative in town.
“Add anything you like to that for Mary,” she said, rising. “I’m very tired, and shall go to bed.”
Salis frowned slightly, for it jarred upon him that every now and then his sister should go off to her room just before he rang for the servants to come in to prayers.