"Dear Mrs. Beadle," said Hildegarde gently, taking the housekeeper's hand in hers as she leant against the wagon, "this is a very dear little friend of mine, whom I want you to know. His name is Hugh; Hugh Allen; and he is staying with his uncle, Mr. Loftus."
"I knew it!" cried Mrs. Beadle, clapping her hands together. "I knew it! And I am going to faint!"
"No, don't do that!" said Hugh, climbing up into the seat beside her. "Don't do that. You must be calm, for you are my great-aunt, and I am your little nephew. How do you do? I am very glad to see you."
"You are sure he will stand?" whispered Hildegarde.
"Look at him! he is asleep already."
"Then come along!" and the two conspirators vanished among the trees.
They pushed on a little way through the tangle of undergrowth, and paused, breathless and radiant, under a great beech-tree.
"Jack," said Hildegarde, "you are a dear! How did you manage it?"
"I didn't manage it at all. I am a stupid ninny. Why, I've thrown her into a fit. Do you think it's safe to leave her alone?"
"Nonsense! a joy fit does not hurt, when a person is well and strong. Oh! isn't it delightful! and you have enjoyed it, too, Jack, haven't you? I am sure you have. And—why, you have a new hat! and your necktie is straight. You look really very nice, mon cousin!"