"And his head, as he tumbled, went knicketty-knock,
Like a pebble in Carisbrook well."
Robert feels the weight of public opinion to be heavy, but he sticks like a man to what he said.
"Not to-day, mother, I think. Esther said she would be coming in by-and-by to say good-bye to you all, and, as it is her last day, I thought I might as well have as much as I could of her."
"What do you mean, Bob? Is the girl going to die to-night?" inquires Miss Brandon, perking up her little tow-coloured head sharply.
"God forbid!" he cries, with a hasty shudder; "don't suggest anything so frightful; but she is off to-morrow for a week or ten days on a visit to some friends."
"Going away without mentioning a word about it!"
"Going away now!"
These two sentences shoot out with simultaneous velocity from two mouths.
"Are you surprised at her not telling us where she is going? Does she ever tell us anything? Does she make us her confidants!" subjoins Miss Bessy, with mild spite.
Spite is permissible on the Sabbath, though hot potatoes and novels are not.