"Now, Johnnie Greybreeks—" began Tom Morgan.
"Oh, if you please, sir," said Johnnie, "that is only my sobriquet."
"Well, Jack, then," laughed Tom, "I'm going to take you to have a look at the Christmas tree, and it is just possible you may have something off it for your Siss—eh?"
Jack's heart was too full to speak, and there were tears in his eyes.
Everybody said that Miss Scraggs was cocking her cap at young Tom Morgan, though everybody took care to add that she was old enough to be his grand—well, his aunt at least. Tom could not stand her. Not that he hated her—he was too good-hearted to hate anybody—but he just gave her a wide berth, as we say at sea.
But when he returned to the drawing-room with the intention of placing his little protégé in a corner to look at the fun for a few minutes, Tom had his revenge, for he had not felt pleased at the way Miss Scraggs talked to or at the poor ragged boy.
The spinster lady happened to be standing near to the door when Tom entered. She did not see Jack just at once, but as soon as she did she smiled most condescendingly on him.
"How do you do, my little friend? I know your face, but can't recollect where I've had the pleasure of seeing you before.—Oh, goodness gracious!" she cried immediately after; "it's the horrid little burglar boy!"
It was rude of Mr. Dawson and Tom Morgan to laugh so loudly, but they could not help it. As for poor Jack, he crimsoned to the very roots of his hair. I think there is always some good about a boy who can blush. However, Jack never forgot Miss Scraggs. But he thought no more about it for the present, because wee Violet Morgan tripped up to speak to him. There was no pride about Violet.
"So," she said, "you's dot you dood tlothes on. You is so pletty now I tould almost tiss you."