“Not a bit of it; the old cat won’t look for any; says she hasn’t time. I’ll hinder her time a little. Come along, Lena.”
The “old cat” was Hannah. I told you she and he were often at daggers drawn. Hannah had a chronic complaint in the shape of ill-temper, and Tod called her names to her face. Upon going in to ask her for the gauze, he found her dressing Hugh and Lena to go out, and she just turned him out of the nursery, and told him not to bother her then with his gauze and his wants. Lena ran after Tod; she liked him better than all of us put together. She had on a blue silk frock, and a white straw hat with daisies round it; open-worked stockings were on her pretty little legs. By which we saw she was about to be taken out for show.
“What are you going to do with her, Tod?”
“I’m going to hide her,” answered Tod, in his decisive way. “Keep where you are, Johnny.”
Lena enjoyed the rebellion. In a minute or two Tod came back alone. He had left her between the ricks in the three-cornered field, and told her not to come out. Then he went off to the front of the house, and I stood inside the barn, talking to Mack, who was hammering away at the iron of the cart-wheel. Out came Hannah by-and-by. She had been dressing herself as well as Hugh.
“Miss Lena!”
No answer. Hannah called again, and then came up the fold-yard, looking about.
“Master Johnny, have you seen the child?”
“What child?” I was not going to spoil Tod’s sport by telling her.
“Miss Lena. She has got off somewhere, and my mistress is waiting for her in the basket-chaise.”