“We were always turned out in all weathers up in Yorkshire, and it never did us any harm,” said Evan.
“Let’s turn that gun further round this way, Ivor,” said Evangeline, going on with the game. “You see it would be firing right into its own trenches; try a shot and you will see.” Evan looked on.
“Here, old man, I’ll show you,” he said, and he took hold of the gun.
“No, don’t!” shouted Ivor in great excitement. “Put it down! I’ve put it there mythelf.”
“Yes, but you haven’t done it properly,” his father said, beginning to move it.
“Leave it, I thay,” Ivor screamed, almost beside himself. “Get out from my gunth——” He pushed his father away impatiently. “And you get out too,” he commanded Evangeline, pushing her also, suddenly tired of visitors. “All go away downthtairth.” Tears of aggravation were in his eyes, but he kept them back.
“You are not to speak to your mother like that, sir,” said Evan. “Apologise to her at once.” Ivor had no idea what apologising meant, but it sounded horrid. “Than’t,” he said.
“Oh, do go away, please, Evan,” said Evangeline. “We’re coming down to tea presently. Do go and ring for it.”
“Not till that boy has apologised for his rudeness,” said Evan. Ivor had resumed his game alone and was getting interested and remote. Evidently this tiresome family of his were going to fight among themselves and leave him in peace.
“You are sorry, aren’t you?” his mother said, then in a pleading tone: “You didn’t mean to push, did you?”