Herty considered.
“Well,” he said, “she hadn’t any rabbits, you see, and I think she likes making bonnets. They made them for the girls at Pinnerton, you know. But I think she does rather mind not having such a nice garden; she minds it for mamma, you see. And Stasy gets awfully cross sometimes! I heard Blanche speaking to her one day about being cross to the people in the shop.”
“And is Blanche never cross?” inquired Mr Dunstan, with great interest.
“Not like Stasy,” said Herty. “But she was very angry with me once when I was little. It was when I cut some hairs off Flopper’s tail. Flopper was grandpapa’s dog, an English dog, and those hairs are very particular, and then—and then,” said Herty, very slowly, “I said I hadn’t done it. It was that made Blanchie so cross. Telling a story, you know.”
“Yes,” said Archie, with preternatural gravity. “But that was a long time ago; of course you know better now,” he went on, cheerfully. “You never vex your sister now.”
“No, not as badly as that,” said Herty. “But one day, not long ago, I did see her crying. It wasn’t my fault, but I was very sorry; I think she had a headache, perhaps.”
The horse gave a spring forward at that moment, nearly dislodging Master Herty from his seat.
“I say, Mr Archie,” he exclaimed reproachfully, “what are you whipping him for? He’s going along quite nicely! I nearly tumbled out, I really did.”
“I beg your pardon, Herty,” said Mr Dunstan. “I’ll be more careful in future. I suppose I wasn’t thinking.”
Herty’s visit was a great success, the day passing to his complete satisfaction; and between four and five that afternoon the pair of friends found themselves at Miss Halliday’s door. Not this time in the dog-cart, for Mr Dunstan had left it at the “George,” a little way down the High Street.