“I’ll manage to do without one,” said Hal, and he took the string of his hat for his top. It soon was worn through, and he split his top by driving the pea too tightly into it. His cousin Ben let him set up his the next day; but Hal was not more fortunate or more careful when he meddled with other people’s things than when he managed his own. He had scarcely played half an hour before he split it, by driving the peg too violently.
Ben bore this misfortune with good humour. “Come,” said he, “it can’t be helped; but give me the string because that may still be of use for something else.”
It happened some time afterwards that a lady, who had been intimately acquainted with Hal’s mother at Bath—that is to say, who had frequently met her at the card-table during the winter—now arrived at Clifton. She was informed by his mother that Hal was at Mr. Gresham’s, and her sons, who were friends of his, came to see him, and invited him to spend the next day with them.
Hal joyfully accepted the invitation. He was always glad to go out to dine, because it gave him something to do, something to think of, or at least something to say. Besides this, he had been educated to think it was a fine thing to visit fine people; and Lady Diana Sweepstakes (for that was the name of his mother’s acquaintance) was a very fine lady, and her two sons intended to be very great gentlemen. He was in a prodigious hurry when these young gentlemen knocked at his uncle’s door the next day; but just as he got to the hall door, little Patty called to him from the top of the stairs, and told him that he had dropped his pocket-handkerchief.
“Pick it up, then, and bring it to me, quick, can’t you, child,” cried Hal, “for Lady Di’s sons are waiting for me?”
Little Patty did not know anything about Lady Di’s sons; but as she was very good-natured, and saw that her cousin Hal was, for some reason or other, in a desperate hurry, she ran downstairs as fast as she possibly could towards the landing-place, where the handkerchief lay; but, alas! before she reached the handkerchief, she fell, rolling down a whole flight of stairs, and when her fall was at last stopped by the landing-place, she did not cry out, she writhed, as if she was in great pain.
“Where are you hurt, my love?” said Mr. Gresham, who came instantly, on hearing the noise of someone falling downstairs. “Where are you hurt, my dear?”
“Here, papa,” said the little girl, touching her ankle, which she had decently covered with her gown. “I believe I am hurt here, but not much,” added she, trying to rise; “only it hurts me when I move.”
“I’ll carry you; don’t move then,” said her father, and he took her up in his arms.
“My shoe! I’ve lost one of my shoes,” said she.