"Yes; and well roughed too, Master Tom," spoke up James, who had lived with us longer than I could remember, as gardener, groom, and general man-of-all-work. "'Tisn't weather, sir, to send him out without being rough-shod."
"You two boys had better get to your Latin for an hour, and prepare it for me for to-morrow; and afterwards you may go to the ponds," said my father, as he rode away. "Good-bye, lads. Take care of yourself, Charley."
"Bother Latin!" said Tom. "I'm going off now. Will you come, youngster?"
"Not till I've done my Latin."
"You senseless young donkey! Stay, though; I must tell the mamsie something."
He made for the dining-room, where Mrs. Strange sat with Blanche. "Look here, mamsie," said he; "let us have a bit of a party to-night."
"A party, Tom!" she returned.
"Just the young Penthorns and the Clints."
"Oh, do, mamma!" I cried, for I was uncommonly fond of parties. And "Do, mamma!" struck in little Blanche.
My new mother rarely denied us anything; but she hesitated now.