Without another word, Nanny took the milk, and departed.
Mrs. Busson hurried after her.
“What a horrid old crab-stick,” cried Jack, “no wonder that you all hated her, when she was your nurse.”
“Small blame to Andrew that he didn’t want to see her again,” said Jack.
“Her bark is worse than her bite,” said Faith; “she always used to threaten us with a great deal more than she ever carried out.”
“I expect,” said Phoena, with her natural shrewdness, “that she has really been doing Andrew a kind turn, and that whatever the punishment may be, she only invented it to get Andrew off the merciless beating he seemed likely to get last evening.”
“It won’t be much fun,” said tender-hearted Marygold, “to go to our picnic, and not know all the time what dreadful things may be happening to Andrew.”
“Yes,” chimed in Hubert, “it does seem werry sad to leave him behind in disgrace, when we are going to enjoy ourselves.”
“He has no one to thank for it but himself,” said Phil. “No one asked him to go and kick up all this shine, and do us out of our supper last night. He ought to be licked for it.”
A little later, Jack was quite ready to endorse Phil’s opinion.