“Don’t you recollect, Con,” she observed, “you lent it to Teddy the other day? I don’t s’pose he ever returned it to you, for I’m sure I saw it this morning with his things in the nursery.”
“No more he did,” replied Conny. “Please go and tell him to bring it back. I know where you’ll find him. Mary is helping Molly making a pie, and he’s certain to be in the kitchen dabbling in the paste.”
“All right!” said Cissy; and presently her little musical voice could be heard calling through the house, “Teddy! Teddy!” as she ran along the passage towards the back.
Bye and bye, however, she returned to the parlour unsuccessful.
“I can’t see him anywhere,” she said. “He’s not with Mary, or in the garden, or anywhere!”
“Oh, that boy!” exclaimed Conny. “He’s up to some mischief again, and must have gone down to the village or somewhere against papa’s orders. Do you know where he is, Liz?”
“No,” replied the young sempstress, taking the pins out of her mouth furtively, seeing that Conny was looking at her. “He ran out of the house before we had finished dinner, and took Puck with him.”
“Then he has gone off on one of his wild pranks,” said her elder sister, rising up and putting all the stockings into her work-basket. “I will go and speak to papa.”
The vicar had just finished the “thirdly, brethren,” of his sermon; and he was just cogitating how to bring in his “lastly,” and that favourite “word more in conclusion” with which he generally wound up the weekly discourse he gave his congregation, when Conny tapped at the study door timidly awaiting permission to enter.
“What’s the matter?” called out Mr Vernon rather testily, not liking to be disturbed in his peroration.