"Hold your tongue; if you make yourself pant they'll hear you. Hang being done good to! Why, you've been perfectly well till this day, for the last six months——"
"And should have been now," Crayshaw gasped out, "only I ran over here just after my lunch."
Emily, the only person seated on a chair, John's throne in fact, was far back in the room, and could not be seen from below. A few minutes passed away, while Crayshaw began to breathe like, other people, and a certain scratching noise was heard below, upon which significant looks entreated her to be silent. She thought she would let things take their course, and sat still for a minute, when a casement was flung open below, and a shrill voice cried, "Mr. Swan, I say, here's Mr. Brandon in the stable yard, and another gentleman, and they want very particular to know where Master Johnnie is."
"I can't say I know, cookie," answered Swan.
"And," continued the same shrill voice, "if you can't tell 'em that, they'd like to know where Matthew is?"
Matthew was the coachman, and Swan's rival.
"Just as if I knew! why, he's so full of fads he won't trust anybody, and nothing ever suits him. You may tell them, if you like," he answered, not intending her to take him at his word, "that I expect he's gone to dig his own grave, for fear when he's dead they shouldn't do it to his mind."
The cook laughed and slammed the casement.
Presently, coming round to the front garden, wheels were heard grating on the gravel, and Brandon's voice shouted, "Swan, Swan, I say, is young Crayshaw here?"
"No, sir," Swan shouted in reply; "not as I know of."