“I thought it was you. Pray desire cook to send up a cup of broth for Miss Rowland’s lunch; and be sure and let Miss Rowland know, the moment it is ready. Mr Enderby is in the shrubbery, I think.”
“Yes, ma’am; seeing he was there, I was coming to ask about the letter, ma’am, to carry it to him.”
“Oh, that letter—I sent it to him. He has got it. Tell cook directly about the broth.”
At lunch-time, one of the children was desired to summon Uncle Philip. Mrs Rowland took care to meet him at the garden door. She saw him cast a wistful eye towards the study mantelpiece, as he passed the open door. His sister observed that she believed it was past post time for this half-week. He sighed deeply; and she felt that no sigh of his had ever so gone to her heart before.
“Why, mamma! do look!” cried George, as well as a mouthful of bread would allow. “Look at the chimney! Where are all the shavings gone? There is the knot at the top that they were tied together with, but not a bit of shaving left. Have they blown up the chimney?”
“What will poor baby say?” exclaimed Matilda. “All the pretty pink and green gone!”
“There is some tinder blowing about,” observed George. “I do believe they have been burnt.”
“Shut the window, George, will you? There is no bearing this draught. There is no bearing Betsy’s waste either. She has burned those shavings somehow in cleaning the grate. Her carelessness is past endurance.”
“Make her buy some new shavings, mamma, for baby’s sake.”
“Do be quiet, and get your lunch. Hand your uncle the dish of currants.”