The day was wearing on now, and he was becoming very tired. He dragged at his sister’s skirts as he walked beside her, and his head was ever turned backwards over his shoulder in the hope of descrying “Dada”. Big folk going past tumbled over him or pushed him to one side with curt admonitory remarks. “Now, then, my man!” “Out of the way, youngster!” “Look where you are going, can’t you, child?” Even Maggie and Rosie, who were themselves probably a little weary, began to lose patience with him, and when, under his despairing clutch, the gathers of the elder sister’s dress gave way, she shook him, not roughly, but irritably, and said sharply:—
“Bless me, Johnny, hold up a bit, can’t ’ee? Jist see what ye’ve a-done to my new dress.”
Thereupon all Johnny’s stoicism gave way, and he began to cry piteously. “I want Dada, I want Dada!”
“Why, he’s over there—see!” cried Jim Fry, who had found Johnny by no means a welcome addition to the party. “Look, Johnny, there’s Dada standin’ jist by that tent. He’ll be comin’ to fetch ’ee in a minute.”
Sure enough the stalwart form of the elder John was plainly discernible some fifty yards or so away.
“Let me go to him!” wailed the child. “I want to go to Dada—I will go to Dada!”
And thrusting aside Maggie’s hand, he broke from the little group and ran at full speed towards the spot where his father was standing.
“Best let him go,” advised Jim, catching hold of Maggie as she was about to start in pursuit. “He’ll be twice so happy wi’ he, and you know your father did say he was a-comin’ back to fetch en.”
“That’s true,” assented she.
As they stood watching the little figure making its way among the groups of people, Tom Davis came up in great excitement, with Rosie on his arm.