“Nor Sammy Pinkney. ’Tis that other lad that came here wi’ a lying note tae get me clear across town for naething!”
“Why, Mrs. McCall! what can you mean? Did a boy fool you, too?”
“Hech!” The woman started and stared at the girl. “Who brought you news of that little girl being sick?”
“But she wasn’t sick!” cried Agnes. “That boy was an awful little story-teller.”
“Ye was fooled then? That Maria Maroni—”
“Was not ill at all.”
“And,” cried Mrs. McCall, “that boy who brought a note to me from Hedden never came from Mr. Howbridge’s house at all. It nearly scar’t me tae death! It said Mr. Howbridge was ill. He isn’t even at home yet, and when Mr. Hedden heard from his master this morning he was all right—the gude mon!”
“Oh, Mrs. McCall!” gasped Agnes, gazing at the housekeeper with terrified visage. “What can it mean?”
“Somebody has foolit us weel,” ejaculated the enraged housekeeper.
“But why?”