"Is dinner nearly—I say, girls, do be careful. If that thing were to fall on Mary it might injure her seriously—and what should we do without her?" With a strong grasp he seized and raised their cumbersome load, while Mary, red, embarrassed, laughing, dishevelled, struggled out from underneath. She was not really hurt, but she was dismayed at the thought of the time, and the work which lay neglected.
"Half-past one!" she gasped, "and I've got all the dinner to get." Faith had already flown downstairs.
"And I have to be at the Cemetery at half-past two," said Mr. Carlyle gravely, but not unkindly. Mary was only seventeen, and, after all, young things did enjoy anything out of the routine, he knew. But such a lack of all sense of responsibility was serious, especially in a house where there was an invalid, and young children.
"And what about your mistress's lunch?" he asked, when they had succeeded in getting the chest of drawers safely into the attic. Mary, overcome with remorse, flew down to the kitchen without a word.
Mr. Carlyle turned to Audrey. "Had you forgotten your mother?" he asked in a voice full of reproach.
Audrey coloured with shame. "I—I—yes, I had, father. I didn't know it was so late—the time flew so.
"It does, when we are occupied with anything that pleases us. But it was your duty to know how the time was going. You reminded me to-day that you were the eldest, and that, therefore, certain privileges were due to you. You must remember, dear, that with certain privileges, certain responsibilities are yours too."
"I am very sorry, father. When I—when I am settled in—I will try to see to things better."
"That's right. I hope the having a room of your very own will not prove a temptation to you to shirk your duty; that your privileges will not block your view of your duties. Come down now, and help Mary, in return for all the help she has given you."
"Yes, father. I will as soon as I have washed my hands."