‘Aunty Rosa says you are,’ said Judy. ‘She told the Vicar so when he came yesterday.’
‘Why does she tell all the people outside the house about me? It isn’t fair,’ said Black Sheep. ‘When I was in Bombay, and was bad—doing bad, not made-up bad like this—Mamma told Papa, and Papa told me he knew, and that was all. Outside people didn’t know too—even Meeta didn’t know.’
‘I don’t remember,’ said Judy wistfully. ‘I was all little then. Mamma was just as fond of you as she was of me, wasn’t she?’
‘’Course she was. So was Papa. So was everybody.’
‘Aunty Rosa likes me more than she does you. She says that you are a Trial and a Black Sheep, and I’m not to speak to you more than I can help.’
‘Always? Not outside of the times when you mustn’t speak to me at all?’
Judy nodded her head mournfully. Black Sheep turned away in despair, but Judy’s arms were round his neck.
‘Never mind, Punch,’ she whispered. ‘I will speak to you just the same as ever and ever. You’re my own own brother though you are—though Aunty Rosa says you’re bad, and Harry says you are a little coward. He says that if I pulled your hair hard, you’d cry.’
‘Pull, then,’ said Punch.
Judy pulled gingerly.