“That’s right,” said Miss Jemima.
“You haven’t answered the other letters?” she then asked, with a glance over the table.
“No.”
“Well, hadn’t you better put them away now, and get to your work? After breakfast you must get a new pen and a fresh bottle of ink. Then we’ll see what we can do together.”
In an emergency which demanded the exercise of the practical good sense, of which she had so large a share, Miss Jemima regained, to some extent, her old ascendency over her brother. He quietly gathered up his letters, and, placing them on the chimney-piece, retired to his workshop.
At breakfast-time Miss Jemima’s prognostication began to receive fulfilment in the arrival of the postman with another batch of letters. This time the number had increased to something like a dozen. Having received them from the hands of the postman, “Cobbler” Horn carried them towards his sister with a somewhat comical air of dismay.
“So many!” exclaimed she. “Your cares are accumulating fast. You will have to engage a secretary. Well, we’ll look at them by and bye.”
Scarcely was breakfast over than there came a modest knock at the door, which, on being opened by Miss Jemima, revealed the presence of the elder of the little twin hucksters, who still carried on business across the way.
Miss Jemima drew herself up like a sentry; and little Tommy Dudgeon, finding himself confronted by this formidable lady, would have beaten a hasty retreat. But it was too late.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he began humbly; “I came to see your brother.”