—serpent.
Amelia opened her mouth and stared at me, and then shot me into the house. It is on such occasions that she regards me as "dotty," and quickly puts me to bed.
Peter is now scraping his boots on the step after carefully dirtying them in the gooseberry-bed. Amelia is hissing at him through the front door; she objects to her hieroglyphics being defaced. Peter is not accustomed to being hissed at, and he will presently come and tell me what he thinks of Amelia.
I persuaded mother a little time back to wheel me under the apple tree and sit with me. The grass is still dew-laden, and Peter will not dare, on account of his gout, to join us till the lawn is dry, hence his position on the doorstep. Peter's gout has been the one bit of luck in mother's life since she was married. Being the more active of the two, she can, when the pressure becomes very great, walk away from him—in fact, run.
I cannot help rejoicing at Dimbie's being away while Peter is here, for I am convinced that long ere this Dimbie would have thrown my father out of the house; and for mother's sake I should not care for such an ignominious thing to happen to her husband. Besides, he would make such a mess on the step while he danced about, his customary habit being, when extra annoyed, to dance a kind of war dance.
When he and mother arrived Amelia rushed into the drawing-room and in great excitement whispered, "A red-nosed gent has come with your mother!"
In an instant my mind flew to Peter, but I remained sufficiently controlled to correct Amelia for saying '"Your mother."
"Is she your step, mum?" she murmured cautiously.
"Certainly not,"' I said. "But it is not polite. You must speak of her as Mrs. Macintosh. Where have you left them? Why don't they come in?"