“It isn’t a pennyworth,” said she sharply, “it’s twopence worth.”
“My stars! how did you know that?” said Kate, much taken aback.
“’Cause you’re bragging. Think I don’t know when anybody’s bragging?” said Bud. “And when a body brags about a place or anything, they zaggerate, and just about double things.”
“You’re not canny,” said Kate, thrusting the milk-can back hastily on the kitchen dresser. “Don’t spare the butter on your biscuit. They tell me there’s plenty of money in America. I would not wonder, eh?”
“Why, everybody’s got money to throw at the birds there,” said Bud, with some of the accent as well as the favourite phrase of Jim Molyneux.
“They have little to do; forbye, it’s cruelty. Mind you, there’s plenty of money here too; your uncle has a desperate lot of it. He was wanting to go away to America and bring you home whenever he heard—whenever he heard— Will you not try another of them biscuits? It will do you no harm.”
“I know,” said Bud gravely,—“whenever he heard about my father being dead.”
“I think we’re sometimes very stupid, us from Colonsay,” said the maid regretfully. “I should have kept my mouth shut about your father. Take two biscuits, my dear; or maybe you would rather have short-cake. Yes, he was for going there and then—even if it cost a pound, I daresay,—but changed his mind when he heard yon man Molyneux was bringing you.”
Footles, snug in the child’s lap, shared the biscuits and barked for more.
“I love little Footles,
His coat is so warm,
And if I don’t tease him
He’ll do me no harm,”