“I can’t never forget it,” replied Pen.
But then she heard a whoop from a distant enemy, and darted to another part of the garden.
The game of hide-and-seek was followed by another, and then another and yet another, and the cries of mirth and laughter sounded all over the place. Even Betty forgot the tragic end of the Duke of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton, who was killed by a brigand in Italy while defending his fair duchess. Betty had been weeping scalding tears over the tragedy when the sound of mirth called her forth. John accompanied her, and the other servants looked on in the distance.
“There never was such a rowdy family,” said Betty.
“Rowdy do you call it?” cried John.
“Yes; and the very rowdiest is Miss Tredgold. For mercy’s sake look at the way she runs! She’s as fleet as a hare.”
“She have very neat ankles,” said John. “I call her a neat figure of a woman.”
“Don’t tell me,” said Betty. “Much you know what a neat figure of a woman means. Miss Tredgold’s a haristocrat. Now, if you’ll believe me, she’s the moral image of the duchess.”
“What duchess?” cried John.
“The Duchess of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton—her that’s just made a widow, and is crying her eyes out over the murdered remains of the poor dook.”