"I think not to-night, dears. You know we are going to have the school-treat tomorrow evening, and the servants are busy with the cakes and things. They shall come on Wednesday instead, Tom."
Tom laughed. "They must come to-night, mamsie. They are coming. I have asked them."
"What—the young Penthorns?"
"And the young Clints," said Tom, clasping his stepmother, and kissing her. "They'll be here on the stroke of five. Mind you treat us to plenty of tarts and cakes, there's a good mamsie!"
Tom went off with his skates. I got to my books. After that, some friends came to call, and the afternoon seemed to pass in no time.
"It is hardly worth while your going to the ponds now, Master Charles," said Leah, meeting me in the passage, when I was at last at liberty.
In looking back I think that I must have had a very obedient nature, for I was ever willing to listen to orders or suggestions, however unpalatable they might be. Passing through the back-door, the nearest way to the square pond, to which Tom had gone, I looked out. Twilight was already setting in. The evening star twinkled in a clear, frosty sky. The moon shone like a silver shield.
"Before you could get to the square pond, Master Charley, it would be dark," said Leah, as she stood beside me.
"So it would," I assented. "I think I'll not go, Leah."
"And I'm sure you don't need to tire yourself for to-night," went on Leah. "There'll be romping enough and to spare if those boys and girls come."