“That makes two interruptions,” said his father. “One more, and you’ll have to go out.”
Rollo looked confounded; he turned round, and walked slowly away, with a very anxious expression of countenance.
“Don’t you know where you can find any pencils yourself?” asked Lucy.
“No,” said Rollo.
Then he walked back slowly towards his father’s table, but was very careful not to say a word, or make any noise, so as not to make an interruption. His father had often told him that, when he was busy, he ought not to speak, but come and stand quietly by his side, until he was spoken to. So he thought he would adopt this plan at this time. He went up cautiously to the table, standing round in such a position that his father could see him; and there he remained still, waiting for his father to look up and ask him what he wanted.
His father waited a few minutes, and then looked up. But, to Rollo’s grief and consternation, instead of asking him, as usual, what he wanted, he took up the paper, and made another mark upon it, saying,—
“There’s the third interruption.”
Rollo could barely articulate the words, “Now, father,” and then, overcome with grief and disappointment, he turned around, and burst into tears.
“Why, Rollo,” said his father, “you must not be so much troubled.”
He took him by the hand, and drew him gently towards him, and took him up in his lap.