“She’s jolly,” replied the boy with prompt vivacity.
“Most genuine testimony in her favour,” laughed Hector, “though the word is scarcely appropriate to one whose temper is sour.”
“Why do you think her jolly, my boy?” said Flora.
“’Cause I do. She’s a old brick!”
“Jacky, darling,” said Mrs Sudberry, “do try to give up those ugly slang words—they’re so naughty—that is to say—at least—they are very ugly if they’re not positively naughty.”
“She’s a jolly old brick,” retorted Jacky, with a look at his mother that was the concentrated essence of defiance.
“Dear child!”
Lucy snickered and coughed somewhat violently into her handkerchief; while Flora, repressing a smile, said—
“But why does Jacky like old Moggy so much?”
“Hallo! don’t run us ashore,” shouted Mr Sudberry, starting up with a sudden impetuosity which shook the boat and sent a pang to the heart of his wife, the sharpness of which no words can convey. A piercing shriek, however, betrayed the state of her feelings as the boat was swept violently round by George to avoid a point of rock. As they were now drawing near to the spot where it was proposed that they should picnic, Jacky suddenly became alive to the fact that in his interest about old Moggy he had been betrayed into a forgetfulness of his opportunities. No time was to be lost. Turning round with a cheer, he made a desperate plunge at the water and went much farther over than he had intended, insomuch that he would certainly have taken a “header” into its depths, had not McAllister grasped him by the baggy region of his trousers and gravely lifted him into his mother’s lap. Next moment the boat’s keel grated sharply on the gravel, to the horror of Mrs Sudberry, who, having buried her face in the bosom of her saved son, saw not what had occurred, and regarded the shock as her death-warrant.