"Did-he-love-his-Auntie-Lizzie-blossom-um-um-um-um."
Charley and Millie exchanged glances; but Bindle was too intent upon his disastrous mission to be conscious of anything but the storm he knew was about to break.
"Did you 'ear, Lizzie," he continued. "We broken the musical-box. Smashed it all to smithereens. Done for it," he added, as if to leave no loophole for misconception as to the appalling nature of the tragedy.
He held his breath, as one who has just tugged at the cord of a shower-bath.
"Oh! go away do!" she cried. "Um-um-um-um-prettyums."
"Pore Aunt Anne's musical-box," he repeated dully. "It's smashed."
"Oh, bother the musical-box! Um-um-um-per-weshus-um-um-um."
Mrs. Bindle had not even looked up.
It was Millie who shepherded the others back into the parlour, where Bindle mopped his brow, with the air of a man who, having met death face to face, has survived.
"Well, I'm blowed!" was all he said.