“Actually swallowed it,” put in Miss Mary on the point of tears.
“And of course he was in a dreadful state, and probably in great pain, so we put him in a basket and took his straight away to Dr Phillips.”
“Tar must be very indigestible,” murmured Jack.
“And did he cure him?” asked Eileen kindly.
“Alas, no: he said nothing could be done for him at all, and the kindest thing would be to poison him at once.”
A big tear rolled down Miss Mary’s cheek.
“Poor Lionel,” she murmured tenderly.
“We buried him ourselves,” finished Miss Jane, “under the cedar tree, as close to the churchyard gate as we could put him.”
“Much better have put him by the rhubarb,” said Jack, for which Eileen frowned at him over their heads, but instead of being in the least ashamed of himself, he looked up at the clouds and murmured feelingly: “Lady Dudley has still five living—let us be thankful for small mercies.”