“I’ll walk to the rectory,” he said, “and bring him back.”
Aunt Hannah laid her hand upon his arm, as he reached the door.
“Don’t be angry with him, my dear,” she whispered.
“Why not? Is that boy to do just as he pleases here? I’ll give him a good sound thrashing, that’s what I’ll do with him.”
Aunt Hannah took away the doctor’s walking stick, which he had made whish through the air and knock down one of Vane’s hats.
“There, I’ll do it with my fist,” cried the doctor. “You cannot amputate that.”
“My dear!” whispered Aunt Hannah, handing back the stick.
“All right, I will not hit him, but I’ll give him a most tremendous tongue thrashing, as they call it here.”
“No, no; there is some reason for his being late.”
“Very well,” cried the doctor. “I shall soon see.”