“That after that wicked horse leaped with you over the stable fence, you were thrown high into the air, and turning completely round, fell head foremost into the snow, and your poor head went through the top of an old cask that had been buried there all winter.”
“Dear me!” ejaculated Charley; “did any one see me, Kate?”
“Oh yes.”
“Who?” asked Charley, somewhat anxiously; “not Mrs Grant, I hope? for if she did she’d never let me hear the last of it.”
“No; only our father, who was chasing you at the time,” replied Kate, with a merry laugh.
“And no one else?”
“No—oh yes, by-the-bye, Tom Whyte was there too.”
“Oh, he’s nobody! Go on.”
“But tell me, Charley, why do you care about Mrs Grant seeing you?”
“Oh! no reason at all, only she’s such an abominable quiz.”