The clockmaker nodded, and went on with his work, and from looking on, Vane came to helping, and so an hour passed away, when it suddenly occurred to him that Aunt Hannah had said something about a message she wanted him to take, so he had unwillingly to leave the clock-chamber.
“Good-day, sir, good-day. I shall see you this evening.”
“Yes, of course,” said Vane; and then, as he hurried down the stairs, it seemed as if there was to be quite a vexatious re-opening of the case.
“I do wish I had not touched the old thing,” muttered Vane, as he went back. “I couldn’t offer him half-a-crown to hold his tongue. Clockmaker’s too big.”
But he did not see the clockmaker again that day, for, as he entered the little drawing-room—
“My dear,” cried Aunt Hannah, “I was wishing that you would come. I want you to go over to Lenby for me, and take this packet—a bottle, mind, for Mrs Merry. It’s a liniment your uncle has made up for her rheumatism.”
“Mrs Merry, aunt?”
“Yes, my dear, at the far end of the village; she’s quite a martyr to her complaint, and I got your uncle to call and see her last time you were out for a drive. Have the pony if you like.”
“Yes, take her, boy,” said the doctor. “She is getting too fat with good living. No; I forgot she was to be taken to the blacksmith’s to be shod this afternoon.”
“All right, uncle, I’ll walk over,” cried Vane, “I shall enjoy it.”