"I don't believe my father would say that sort of thing," answered Ronald.
"Oh my!" said Agnes. "Highty-tighty! Don't yer go an' say as I tells lies, young man——"
"An' it's the wery thing he would say," interrupted Mrs. Warren, "for a plainer-spoken, more hagreeable man than the Major niver drew breath."
"He left yer a message," continued Agnes, "an' yer can tike it or leave it—I don't care. Wot he said wor this. You're to obey Mammy Warren, an' be wery grateful to her, an' do jest wot she tells yer until he comes 'ome. He'll be 'ome any day, an' he'll come an' fetch yer then, and the more good yer be to Mammy Warren the better pleased he'll be."
Ronald sat down on a little stool. He had sat on that stool before. He looked with dim eyes across the over-furnished, hot, and terribly ugly room. That vision of delight which had buoyed him up all the way back to London was not to be realized for a few days. He must bear with Mrs. Warren for a few days. It did not enter into his head that the whole story about his father was false from beginning to end. The present disappointment was quite enough for so young a child to bear.
After this Mrs. Warren and Agnes conversed in semi-whispers, and presently they retired into Mrs Warren's bedroom, and Connie and Ronald were alone.
"I am glad yer've come 'ere, Ronald," said Connie.
"Yes," said Ronald. He pressed his little white hand against his forehead.
"You're missing your father, I know," continued Connie, "Somehow I'm a-missing o' mine."
"Have you a father, Connie?" asked the little boy.