“Nurse is ill; at least she’s hurt her leg,” said Leigh. “It’s Emma that’s with us.”
“Then she oughter be ashamed of herself,” exclaimed Janie, as if she was nineteen and Emma ten, instead of the other way about. “What’s the good of a big person to look after children if she’s as silly as them. I beg your parding, Master Leigh, but this ’ere precious baby’s had a narrer escape, and no mistake.”
Janie was hot with indignation and fright.
“But you tried yourselves, Janie,” said Leigh, feeling rather small. “Ned harnessed himself to—”
“That was quite different,” said Janie. “And I told you the other day as it hadn’t turned out a good plan at all. I’m sure if I’d had any notion you were thinking of such a thing, I’d have—” she stopped, then went on again, “But you’ll never try such tricks again, now, will you, Master Leigh? And you’ll go straight to your dear mamma as soon as you get in and tell her all about it.”
“No, I’ll never try it again, I promise you. And of course I’d rather tell about it myself, Janie. You won’t, will you? They’d be making such a song of it all through the village.”
“Very well then, I won’t say nothing,” agreed the little woman. “And I’ll tell Comfort—she’s in the field there behind the hedge with the babies. I’ll see to it that Comfort says nothing neither.”
Then Janie put Baby Dolly tenderly back into her nest again, charging the children to stay close round her till Emma came up, “for fear the sweet little lady should be frightened again.” There was a vision in the distance of Emma slowly making her way to them, and Janie did not want to see her.
“I’ve a sharp tongue in my head, and I’d mebbe say too much,” she thought.
So she hurried back to her own charges, whom she found quite content; the baby sprawling on Comfort’s knee, and Comfort seated on the grass, late October though it was, buried in her book. There was no need to warn her to say nothing. She looked up with a start as Janie ran up to them.