“I was afraid somebody was dead,” said she. “You rung so loud, and you looked so terrible solemn, both of you.”
“Solemn?” echoed Fred; and then it was he, not Mary, who broke down and smiled.
“Mr. Lee’s gone to a funeril,” continued Hannah, looking through and through the parcel again; “but I’ll give it to him when he comes home, and tell him who brought it.”
Did Fred wish her to tell him? He began to doubt it.
“Come, Flaxie, we must go.”
“Fred,” said the little girl, as they hurried out of the gate, “I can’t help thinking; shan’t we feel sorry next Sunday?”
“Nonsense!” returned her cousin. He had already thought about Sunday, and fancied himself looking up to the pulpit to meet Mr. Lee’s eye. Had he been quite respectful to that learned and excellent man?
“Nonsense! ministers are no better than other folks!”
It was too late to repent; but he wished now he had waited till afternoon and thought of all the possible consequences. Perhaps the fun wouldn’t pay. These doubts, however, he did not mention to the boys at school, but told them he had made “a splendid fool” of the minister.