“Yes, yes,” he said hastily; “but I like to live at peace with every one.”
He dipped his pen into the ink, and wrote a line of his sermon. The open window looked on to the kitchen-garden. Herbert Tanerton had his back against the walnut-tree, doing nothing. Alice sat near on a stool, her head buried in a book that by its canvas cover Mrs. Dean knew to be “Robinson Crusoe.” Just then Jack came out of the raspberry bushes with a handful of fruit, which he held out to Alice. “Robinson Crusoe” fell to the ground.
“Oh, Jack, how good they are!” said Alice. And the words came distinctly to Aunt Dean’s ears in the still day.
“They are as good again when you pick them off the trees for yourself,” cried Jack. “Come along and get some, Alice.”
With the taste of the raspberries in her mouth, the temptation was not to be resisted; and she ran after Jack. Aunt Dean put her head out at the window.
“Alice, my love, I cannot have you go amongst those raspberry bushes; you would stain and tear your frock.”
“I’ll take care of her frock, aunt,” Jack called back.
“My darling Jack, it cannot be. That is her new muslin frock, and she must not go where she might injure it.”
So Alice sat down again to “Robinson Crusoe,” and Jack went his way amongst the raspberry bushes, or whither he would.
“Jacob, have you begun to think of what John is to be?” resumed Aunt Dean, as she shut down the window.