“Vane,” said Aunt Hannah, more loudly, “put them away now.”
“Yes,” said Deering, starting; “it is quite time. They have done their work, and to-morrow they shall be burned.”
“No,” yelled Vane, starting up and swinging the linen tracing round his head as he danced about the room. “Hip, hip, hip, hurray, hurray, hurray!”
“Has the boy gone mad?” cried the doctor.
“Vane, my dear child!” cried Aunt Hannah.
“Hip, hip, hip, hurray,” roared Vane again, leaping on the couch, and waving the plan so vigorously, that a vase was swept from a bracket and was shivered to atoms.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” he cried. “But of course it burst.”
“What do you mean?” cried Deering, excitedly.
“Look there, look here!” cried Vane, springing down, doubling the linen tracing quickly, so that he could get his left thumb on one particular spot, and then placing his right forefinger on the plan beneath the lamp. “See that?”