II.
The next day, just before the donkey-cart was expected round, Major Raeburn ran up to the nursery.
'I should drive down that quiet road towards the Mill, Mary; and don't allow Master Harry to irritate Tim with a whip, or any nonsense of that sort. Do you hear?' he continued, turning round to that young gentleman, who, seated in baby's chair, was pretending to be a motor. 'Promise that you will be a good boy.'
'All right, Father, but you had better get out of the way now, or you will be run over by my motor. People that get in front of motors always get killed.'
Here he uttered a piercing yell, at which six-months-old Baby crowed and kicked to show how much she enjoyed the game.
'That's just the engine exploded,' he explained, 'and Mary, you must come and see if the driver is killed.'
At this point in his game the sound of wheels was heard upon the gravel outside; with a bound Harry was on the seat of Nannie's chair at the window.
'It's Tim, it's Tim!' he cried, and picking up his little sailor cap, he tore downstairs to inspect his new present.
'Good morning, Master Harry,' said Simmons, as Harry danced out upon the drive; 'are you going to give Tim a piece of sugar?'
'May I?' he called out to his mother, who was looking through the rugs in an old oak chest for one that would be suitable for the size of the donkey-cart.