"You and I. We have to go blackberrying and see the squirrels."
The look which Peter gave to Dimbie obliged me to press my mouth against the tortoise's back to keep from screaming.
Peter sat down heavily.
"I don't know whether you think you are being funny, sir, but I don't. To wake a man up from a much-needed sleep to talk about da—ahem, squirrels and blackberries seems to me to be about the most deucedly idiotic thing—"
"Hsh, father!" I said. "Dimbie wants you to go for a walk with him to the spinny. It's a lovely evening, and you might just happen to come across some squirrels and blackberries."
"But I don't want to see any squirrels or bl——"
Dimbie took him by the arm and began gently to drag him towards the door. "Come on," he said coaxingly, "we've got to go somewhere, General. They want to get rid of us. Women are——" and Peter was so interested in hearing what Dimbie thought of the senseless creatures, that he actually followed him into the hall, allowed himself to be put into his top coat, and led through the door, down the path and out of the gate.
"You can take a breath, mother, dear," I said, "or you will suffocate. And now, Jane, tell your news, they won't be back under an hour."
She drew a thread from the linen tea-cloth she was making with unswerving fingers, but the colour crept into her cheeks.
"She looks as though she were making bottom drawer things," remarked Nanty dryly.