“Bertha!” said Tackleton, with for once a show of cordiality, “Come here.”
“Oh, I can come straight to you. You needn’t guide me!”
“Shall I tell you a secret, Bertha?”
“If you will,” she answered eagerly.
How bright the darkened face looked! How anxious the listening head!
“This is the day on which that spoiled child, John Peerybingle’s wife, pays her regular visit to you—makes what she calls her ‘picnic’ here, ain’t it?” said Tackleton, with a look of distaste for the affair.
“Yes,” replied Bertha, “this is the day.”
“I thought so,” said Tackleton. “I should like to join the party.”
“Do you hear that, Father?” cried Bertha in delight.
“Yes, yes, I heard it,” murmured Caleb, with the look somewhat of a sleepwalker, “but I don’t believe it.”