The next morning they woke with very heavy hearts.
“Won’t it be an awful disgrace, Phoena,” sighed Fay, “if we really are sent back to-day. What will mother say?”
“I shall be so sorry for Mrs. Busson,” said Phoena, “because, you see, she will be so sad if it all ends so badly. Perhaps the farmer has waked up in a better temper.”
“I rather hope he has,” chimed in little Marygold, “for I’m werry afraid of seeing him, if he’s still in that turkey-cock rage.”
And so, in sooth, were her elders, whose courage was at a very low ebb when they reluctantly left the shelter of their room for breakfast.
Even Jack and Phil were unusually subdued.
They had heard the whole story from Joe Wintle, the hero of the zinc sheet, and they had heard also how Mr. Busson had vowed that every one of them was to be cleared off the premises that day.
“And Joe says that the farmer is a man of his word,” said Phil.
No one had seen Andrew. Jack had tried the door of his room, but had found it still locked.
“Poor beggar, he must be having a lively time of it,” said Phil.