"Is it not so, Father?" she went on, turning to Father White, who had joined them. "Have I not heard thee say any one might have the training of a child after seven if thou couldst have the teaching of him till then?"
"Ay, 'tis so—though this boy may not do so much credit to my teaching as I could wish;" and he pinched Cecil's ear, laughing.
"He is too busy keeping his body a-growing, I fancy, to pay much heed to his soul. How say you, Cecil,—wilt thou lend me those cheeks of thine for cushions?"
"No," answered the child, gravely, "elthe how could I keep my food in when I eat? Let me go! I mutht tell Couthin Mary thou art come. I dearly love to be the firtht to tell newth."
But this time he was too late, for Mary had caught sight of the group, and came running down the path.
"Oh, Margaret, but I am glad to see thee! Bless thine heart, how thou art blown! I have great need of thy counsel. I must have thee tell me if the pickles want sweetening, and if the stockade be high enough, and how many cattle I should order out of England—"
"Why hast not asked Giles all these things?"
"Why, Giles is so great a man he will give no heed to small things, but puts them off with a 'Presently—presently—'"
"Ay, and if he have not a care, this 'Presently, presently' will cost him dear. In a new land least of all can we afford to despise the day of small things.—Ah! there is my Cousin Elinor!" She broke off, seeing Mistress Calvert in the doorway.