"How can I be still, Sally Hancock, when I am expecting Tom? I can't sit like Bobby, there. Look at Bobby, sitting with his legs crossed, and his face as calm as if Tom was no son of his."
Mrs. Hancock winked upon the company as she called out to Mr. Pynsent:—"I say, Bob Pynsent, Pen may have—"
Mrs. Pynsent turned quickly upon her sister.
"Sally Hancock, you be quiet now. You know Tom and Bobby, too, won't endure your jokes. If you begin joking, you will be sent back to Lea before Tom arrives."
Mrs. Hancock was not in the least degree ruffled by the threat.
"None of your great guns, Pen. I'm as silent as a mouse. I thought I should never be silent again though, when we caught Charley Snooks in the booth that race-day."
"Sally Hancock, what things you do remember! Shall we ever forget squeezing into the pit of the play-house, and finding Polly Sydenham twigging us from the side-box?"
Again both sisters were plunged into a recital of past levities, and were laughing immoderately, when the hounds sent forth their cry, and ran in full chase round the swell of the park which fronted the entrance to Hatton. They were laid on the scent of a red-herring, which had been previously dragged round the knoll, the moment the travelling-carriage entered the lodge. This was Mrs. Pynsent's particular command. She was resolved to celebrate her son's arrival in a manner most consonant to his tastes and feelings, and her heart prompted this mode of testifying her delight at his return. The cry of the dogs was a signal to rush towards the hall-door, and Tom Pynsent was waving his hat, and tally-hooing with all his might, as the carriage tore up the serpentine road from the lodge-gates. Mrs. Pynsent was in ecstacies of joy.
"Here, hallo, Bill! fetch your master's horse out in a minute; he has been saddled these two hours. I know what my Tom will do; his old mother knows him well. Jack Ball! off with you, and turn the colts into the park. Stir along, boys! Look at him—bless him! Come, Sally Hancock, let us have a cheer for Tom."
Sally Hancock was nothing loth; she shouldered her stick with the air of a corporal, and both ladies startled their companions by uttering a loud and protracted huzza. Tom Pynsent answered the shout. His body was half way through the carriage window, as he continued waving and hurraing to the scene before him. At last the carriage drew up, and Mrs. Pynsent's arms once more encircled her darling son. She hung round his neck entranced.