“It was William Brook, safe enough, sir,” interposed Tod. “Do you think I don’t know him? We spoke to him, and he spoke to us. Why should you doubt it?”
“Well, I suppose I can’t doubt it, as you speak so positively,” said Mr. Delorane. “The news took me by surprise, you see. Why on earth did St. George not tell me of it? I shall take him to task when he comes in. Any way, I am glad Brook’s come. We will drink his health.”
He opened what was in those days called the cellaret—and a very convenient article it was for those who drank wine as a rule—and put on the table some of the glasses that were standing on the sideboard. Then we drank health and happiness to William Brook.
“And to some one else also,” cried bold Tod, winking at Aunt Hester.
“You two boys can go on to Mrs. Brook’s,” cried the Squire; “I shall stop here a bit. Tell William I am glad he has surmounted the perils of the treacherous seas.”
“And tell him he may come to see me if he likes,” added the lawyer. “I expect he did not get a note I wrote to him a few months back, or he’d have been here this morning.”
Away we went to Mrs. Brook’s. And the first thing that flabbergasted us (the expression was Tod’s, not mine) was to be met by a denial of the servant’s. Upon Tod asking to see Mr. William, she stared at us and said he was not back from his travels.
“Come in,” called out Minty from the parlour; “I know your voices.” She sat at the table, her paint-box before her. Minty painted very nice pieces in water-colours: the one in process was a lovely bit of scenery taken from Little Malvern. Mrs. Brook was out.
“What did I hear you saying to Ann about William—that he had come home?” she began to us, without getting up from her work—for we were too intimate to be upon any ceremony with one another. “He is not come yet. I only wish he was.”