Jack and Phil had come in from a long ride on some delightfully rough ponies which the farmer had put at their disposal. Andrew was amusing himself,—if not Hubert—by teaching his valet to shoot with a bow and arrow, but they were all awaiting the bell which always rang then to give them notice to get ready for dinner.
“Oh! I say,” began Di, “I’ve something to tell you. Infants,”—this to Hubert and Marygold,—”run away.”
“Please mayn’t we stop?” they implored.
“Why shouldn’t they, poor little beggars?” said Jack.
“Oh! then I shan’t tell you, that’s all,” said Di.
Jack felt in his pockets. “Here’s a halfpenny for each infant that runs as far as that fir tree,” he said, tossing the coins in the air.
“Now, Di,” cried Phil, as the “infants” ran off.
“I’ve found out this morning,” cried Di, excitedly, “that there’s a mysterious room in the house, which has been shut up for hundreds of years, and Mrs. Busson doesn’t want us to find it out.”
“Then,” said Jack, promptly, “it would be beastly mean of us to try to find it out.”
“Of course it would be,” echoed Phil.