“Be aisy, me dearie,” remonstrated Mrs Gilmour, as Nell reached over to hug Rover in a sudden caress of affection, and caused by the sudden movement a breakage of the thread, thus interrupting her aunt’s handiwork. “Sure, if you go wriggling about like an eel with that dog, I shall never get your frock mended!”
“All right, auntie, I beg your pardon. I’ll be very good now, and promise not to move again till you tell me to.”
So saying, Miss Nell resumed her former position, and, making Rover lie down at her feet, remained “as quiet as a mouse,” as her aunt acknowledged, until the latter had completed her task of gathering up the rents in the damaged garment that the envious blackberry-thorns had made.
Chapter Twelve.
“The Devil’s Bit.”
“Now, me dearie,” said Mrs Gilmour, replacing her needle and thimble, with the reel of thread, in her little “housewife,” and putting that carefully back into her pocket, “sure, we’ll have a jollification on our own account as our gentlemen have left us. We’ll show them that we can do without them, sure, when we like.”
“How nice, auntie!” cried Miss Nellie, agreeing thoroughly in the sentiment her aunt had expressed, the desertion of the Captain and Bob, in addition to the fact of Dick having been also taken away, having affected the young lady more than she had acknowledged. “What shall we do first to be ‘jolly,’ as Bob says?”
“I’ll soon show you, me dearie,” replied Mrs Gilmour. “Sure, you’ll say in a minute, Nell. Come now, me darlint, and help me.”