“That will be grand indeed, my son. But will Mr Merryboy let ye go, Bobby?”
“Of course he will. He lets me do whatever I please, for he’s as fond o’ me as if he were my father.”
“No; he ain’t that,” returned Mrs Frog, with a shake of the head; “your father was rough, Bobby, specially w’en in liquor, but he ’ad a kind ’art at bottom, and he was very fond o’ you, Bobby—almost as fond as he once was o’ me. Mr Merryboy could never come up to ’im in that.”
“Did I say he came up to him, mother? I didn’t say he was as fond o’ me as my own father, but as if he was my father. However, it’s all arranged, and I go off at once.”
“Not before breakfast, Bobby?”
“No, not quite. I never do anything important on an empty stomach, but by this time to-morrow I hope to be far on my way to the sea-coast, and I expect Martha to take good care of you till I come back.”
“I’ll be sure to do that,” said Martha, looking up in Mrs Frog’s face affectionately.
Bob Frog noted the look, and was satisfied.
“But, my boy, I shan’t be here when you come back. You know my visit is over in a week, and then we go to Sir Richard’s estate.”
“I know that, mother, but Martha goes with you there, to help you and Hetty and Matty to keep house while Tim Lumpy looks after the farm.”