“—— for you and the other idle hussies to gape and grin at? No. Bring them to the library,” he snapped, and then stalked off, leading the way.
The housekeeper accordingly led them to the library, and then withdrew, nearly falling on her face as she left the room by stumbling over Darkie, who slipped in last like a black shadow.
The old man was seated in a carved oak chair by the fire.
“I never said the dogs were to come in,” he said.
“But we can’t do without them, please,” said Robin, boldly. “You see there are eight people in ‘The Peace-Egg,’ and there are only five of us; and so Darkie has to be the Black Prince, and Pax has to be the fool, and so we have to have them.”
“Five and two make seven,” said the old man, with a grim smile; “what do you do for the eighth?”
“Oh, that’s the little one at the end,” said Robin, confidentially. “Mamma said we weren’t to mention him, but I think that’s because we’re children.”—“You’re grown up, you know, so I’ll show you the book, and you can see for yourself,” he went on, drawing ‘The Peace-Egg’ from his pocket: “there, that’s the picture of him, on the last page; black, with horns and a tail.”
The old man’s stern face relaxed into a broad smile as he examined the grotesque woodcut; but when he turned to the first page the smile vanished in a deep frown, and his eyes shone like hot coals with anger. He had seen Robin’s name.
“Who sent you here?” he asked, in a hoarse voice. “Speak, and speak the truth! Did your mother send you here?”
Robin thought the old man was angry with them for playing truant. He said, slowly “N—no. She didn’t exactly send us; but I don’t think she’ll mind our having come if we get back in time for supper. Mamma never forbid our going mumming, you know.”