And she said, “Amabel.”
To her parents and guardians, Amabel made the following statement: “I’ve seen Bogy. I like him. He doesn’t sleep in the cellar, so Nurse told a story. And he didn’t take me away, so that’s another story. He says his prayers, and he goes to church, so he can’t be the Bad Man. He makes pictures with leaves. He carried me on his back, but not in a bag”—
At this point the outraged feelings of Lady Craikshaw exploded, and she rang the bell, and ordered Miss Amabel to be put to bed with a dose of rhubarb and magnesia (without sal-volatile), for telling stories.
“The eau-de-Cologne, mamma dear, please,” said Lady Louisa, as the door closed on the struggling, screaming, and protesting Amabel. “Isn’t it really dreadful? But Esmerelda Ammaby says Henry used to tell shocking stories when he was a little boy.”
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE PAINT-BOX.—MASTER LINSEED’S SHOP.—THE NEW SIGN-BOARD.—MASTER SWIFT AS WILL SCARLET.
On Sunday morning Jan took his place in church with unusual feelings. He looked here, there, and everywhere for the little damsel of the wood, but she was not to be seen. Meanwhile she had not sent the paint box, and he feared it would never come. He fancied she must be the Squire’s little daughter, but he was not sure, and she certainly was not in the big pew, where the back of the Squire’s red head and Lady Louisa’s aquiline nose were alone visible. She was a dear little soul, he thought. He wondered why she called him Bogy. Perhaps it was a way little ladies had of addressing their inferiors.
Jan did not happen to guess that, Amabel being very young, the morning services were too long for her. In the afternoon he had given her up, but she was there.
The old Rector had reached the third division of his sermon, and Lady Craikshaw was asleep, when Amabel, mounting the seat with her usual vigor, pushed her Sunday hood through the bombazine curtains, and said,—
“Bogy!”