D
uncan crept away to his own little bedchamber with an uneasy feeling of trouble. It was next to Elsie's, separated from it only by a little square bit of landing, and, like hers, was a tiny apartment under the roof, with a ceiling of the bare rafters which supported the tiles. In each was a small wooden bedstead, a deal stand, with basin and jug of coarse white earthenware, and a small deal box, which served both to keep clothes in and as a chair.
Everything was scrupulously clean, even to the dimity vallance that hung across the low window. In autumn and winter the bleak wind whistled through the chimneys and rattled the casements in a way that would have prevented a town-bred child from sleeping, and up in those bare rooms there was cold enough to pinch you black and blue; but Elsie and Duncan had never thought much of that, for they had been accustomed to it from babyhood, and only threw on their thick homespun garments in greater haste.
Just now the weather was unusually hot, and the little lofts had gone to the other extreme, and were more like ovens than anything else. Duncan had scarcely taken off his jacket when he heard Elsie calling. He ran to see what she wanted. "I s'pose you won't go telling any tales about what I said just now," she exclaimed shortly.
"Of course I shan't," Duncan replied, indignantly; "but what was it you said? There wasn't anything to tell tales about except that you said you weren't going to fetch the milk."
Elsie's mind was so full of her own affairs that it was quite a shock to her to find that Duncan had taken so little heed of her words. "It's a good thing I'm not such a silly baby as you are," she said, contemptuously—a way in which she so often spoke to Duncan that he quite believed Elsie to be the cleverest, most daring, and bravest creature in existence.
"This place is like a furnace," she cried, irritably throwing the sheet which covered her down on to the floor. "Why should I be poked up here and Robbie sleep downstairs with mother and grandmother, eh, Duncan?"
"I s'pose it's because he always does," Duncan replied dubiously.
"Stupid-head!" cried Elsie. "And why does he always?"
Duncan thought a minute. "P'raps it's because he's the youngest, and was the baby when you and me was bigger," he answered presently.
Elsie turned over with an angry grunt. "It isn't anything of the sort," she cried; "and you might have known I didn't want you to answer me."