“It is a strange cantrip, Mary,” said the General; “I suppose you’ll be going to give him something. It is give, give all the day in this house like Sergeant Scott’s cantiniers.”
“Indeed and you need not complain of the giving,” said Miss Mary: “there was nobody gave with a greater extravagance than yourself when you had it to give, and nobody sends more gangrels about the house than you.”
“Give the boy his meat and let him go,” said the Cornal roughly.
“He’s not going,” said Miss Mary, turning quite white and taking the pin carefully out of her shawl and as carefully putting it in again. And having done this quite unnecessary thing she slipped her hand down and warmly clasped unseen the fingers of the boy in the folds of her bombazine gown.
“Not going? I do not understand you, Mary; as you grow older you grow stupider. Does she not grow stupider, Dugald?” said the Cornal.
“She does,” said the General. “I think she does it to torment us, just.” He was tired by this discussion; he turned and walked to the parlour.
Miss Mary mustered all her courage, and speaking with great rapidity explained the situation. The boy was the Ladyfield boy; the Paymaster was going to keep him hereafter.
The Cornal stood listening to the story as one in a trance. There was a little silence when she had done, and he broke it with a harsh laugh.
“Ah! and what is he going to make of this one?” he asked.
“That’s to be seen,” said Miss Mary; “he spoke of the army.”