The remainder was drowned by “that irritating whistle.”
“Get her what, ma’am?”
“Get her shoes mended before Sunday, and remember that her petticoat was torn when she—bless me! has that thing burst at last?”
“No, ma’am, not yet,” said Niven.
“Now then, keep back; show your tickets, please,” said the inspector, pushing Niven aside.
“Imperence!” muttered the offended housekeeper, again advancing to the window when the man had passed.
As the train was evidently about to start, Miss Peppy’s memory became suddenly very acute, and a rush of forgotten directions almost choked her as she leaned out of the window.
“Oh! Niven, I forgot—the—the—dear me, what is it? I know it so well when I’m not in a flurry. It’s awful to be subjected so constantly to—the Child’s History of England! that’s it—on the top of my—my—which trunk can it be? I know, oh yes, the leather one. Emmie is to read—well now, that is too bad—”
As Miss Peppy stopped and fumbled in her pocket inquiringly, Mrs Niven asked, in some concern, if it was her purse.
“No, it’s my thimble; ah! here it is, there’s a corner in that pocket where everything seems to—well,” (shriek from the whistle), “oh! and—and—the baker’s book—it must be—by the bye, that’s well remembered, you must get money from Mr Stuart—”