“But wait—just say that line once over, Hugh. I have a reason for wishing it. I have, indeed.”
“Mother has been telling Mr Tooke that I cannot say my multiplication-table! Now, that is too bad!” exclaimed Hugh. “And they will make me say it after dinner! What a shame!”
“Why Hugh! You know mamma does not like—you know mamma would not—you know mamma never does anything unkind. You should not say such things, Hugh.”
“Ay, there! You cannot say that she has not told Mr Tooke that I say my tables wrong.”
“Well—you know you always do say it wrong to her.”
“I will go somewhere. I will hide myself. I will run to the market while the cloth is laying. I will get away, and not come back till Mr Tooke is gone. I will never say my multiplication table to him!”
“Never?” said Agnes, with an odd smile and a sigh. “However, do not talk of running away, or hiding yourself. You will not have to say anything to Mr Tooke to-day.”
“How do you know?”
“I feel sure you will not. I do not believe Mr Tooke will talk to you, or to any of us. There you go! You will be in the water-butt in a minute, if you tumble so.”
“I don’t care if I am. Mr Tooke will not come there to hear me say my tables. Let me go!” he cried, struggling, for now Agnes had caught him by the ankle. “If I do tumble in, the water is not up to my chin, and it will be a cool hiding-place this hot day.”