Then the old dame went cautiously downstairs, feeling the way with her thick stick, and Duncan once more went off to bed.
He woke very early the next morning, wondering whether Elsie would keep her vaunted threat of refusing to fetch the milk, and if so, what would happen: for if Elsie were obstinate, their mother was firm as a rock in doing a duty, and Duncan well knew she would not be overborne by any one. So it was with a vague uneasiness that he put on his clothes and went downstairs. To his surprise and relief, Elsie was already in the kitchen and was busily, though with a sulky-enough expression, rinsing out the can. Elsie's valour, like that of many an older person, was greater in words than action, and there is no doubt that the previous night's punishment had had its effect.
But that Duncan should think so was the last thing that Elsie would wish. Directly they were outside the door, she said in a careless tone, "It's nice and cool this morning across the moor: much better out here than in that little loft."
"And won't you come this afternoon?" asked simple, straightforward Duncan.
"I don't know," Elsie answered sharply. "It depends upon whether I feel inclined. Duncan, what was that granny was asking about a piece of paper?"
"She only asked me if I'd picked a piece up with writing on it, and said she'd give me a penny if I found it."
"I dare say she would," laughed Elsie; "but you won't ever get the penny, Duncan, so don't expect it. She didn't ask if I'd picked it up?"
"No, she didn't; but have you found it, Elsie? because I'll take it to her, and give you the penny," Duncan remarked.
"A penny indeed!" laughed Elsie contemptuously. "I wonder whether you really could keep a secret, Duncan?"
Duncan was rather hurt at the implied doubt. "I never told tales of you, Elsie, never," he said, earnestly.