"And a fine pickle you are in, to be with your mamma, naughty child!"
"You should not let him get into this state, Honour."
"It's not my fault, ma'am; he ran away from me after the dog."
"Take him into the nursery," concluded Mrs. St. John, turning her eyes again to the window and the winding road.
Honour carried him away, talking lovingly to him--that he was a sad little boy to make himself so dirty, and dirty little boys never went to heaven, unless they got clean again. And Mrs. Carleton St. John sat on, dreamily watching.
The first thing that aroused her from it was the sound of voices outside. She looked out and saw Honour and Benja. Master Benja was now dressed in a handsome green velvet tunic, and looked as if he had just come out of a bandbox. Honour had her things on for walking.
"Where are you going?" inquired Mrs. St. John.
"Me going to see papa," responded Benja, before Honour could speak, his eyes bright, and his cheeks glowing.
"I am taking him to meet the carriage, ma'am."
"But----" Mrs. St. John was beginning, and then suddenly stopped; and Honour was half scared at the blank look and the momentary flash of anger that succeeded each other on her face. "Why should you take him there?" she resumed. "He will see his papa soon enough at home."