"Yes," I answered, heavily, "next year." And I sighed again, bethinking me of the changes this next year must bring to all of us.
"Tell me, Uncle Dick," says she, suddenly, laying a hand on either of my shoulders, "how did father hurt his foot?"
"Why, to be sure," says I, readily, "'twas an accident. You must know 'twas as we came down the steps at 'The Chequers', Pen; talking and laughing, d'ye see, he tripped and fell—caught his spur, I fancy."
"But he wore no spurs, Uncle Dick," says she, mighty demure.
"Oh—why—didn't he so, Pen?" says I, a little hipped. "Well, then he—er—just—tripped, you know—fell, you understand."
"On the steps, Uncle Dick?"
"Aye, on the steps," I nodded.
"Prithee did he fall up the steps or down the steps, Uncle Dick?"
"Down, Pen, down; he simply tripped down the steps and—and there you have it."
"But prithee Uncle Dick—"