"I say, Vi, I wonder how much longer papa will be? He promised me faithfully last night that he would come in very soon after breakfast—very soon, he said—and you know it's past twelve now. I'm sure it is, because I feel so hungry. I wish lunch would come in, don't you, Vi? Oh, you're never hungry! How cold my hands are, I can hardly hold my pencil. But I'm getting on capitally with this drawing; I shall finish it this morning," [scribble, scribble, scribble]. "I'm putting in the water now, Vi. Oh, lor'! I've left no room for the boat, the darling little boat, with the tiny little man in it" [rub, rub, rub]. "Oh, how I've smudged it! What do you think he's doing in that boat, Vi? Fishing? Ah! I suppose he is. Do you know I think it's quite a shame those people at the Grange keeping papa all this time? It is so selfish and inconsiderate. Don't you think so, Vi? Oh! you never will abuse people properly—you won't! you always make excuses for them. I do wish papa would come home. Oh! there, now, I've broken my pencil. Where's my knife?" [cut, cut, cut].
"You know, Madge, poor old Mr. Hadfield is very ill indeed, and of course papa felt bound to stay with him. The family were so anxious that he should, and they've been always such good, kind friends of ours. What could papa do?"
"Oh! but they'll tire the poor dear man to death; besides I want him to help me make a slide in the garden. He said he would, if the frost lasted. What a splendid slide that was in the garden last Christmas! Do you remember it, Vi?"
"I am afraid, Madge, your slide will tire papa even more than his sitting up with poor Mr. Hadfield."
"Lor', so it will! Do you know I should never have thought of that, Vi! I wish I had your brains."
"I wish papa would come home: he's been sent for twice this morning to see old Mrs. Gardiner, who's had another fit."
"Then he'll have to go out again directly he comes in! What a shame! What does that stupid old woman mean by falling ill again? I declare she's always having fits."
"For shame, Madge! You forget the damson-cheeses the old woman gave you a little while ago."
"Ah! bless the dear old soul, weren't they nice? Oh, Vi! I wish you'd come and do some of this tree for me. Do, there's a darling! You do trees so splendidly, Vi, and this is such a horrid hard one. What's it meant for? A willow, isn't it? I thought it was. I wish I could draw like you, Vi—you've got such a neat sort of way with you—you make the drawing exactly like the copy—somehow, I never can. Oh! how I've blacked my fingers—just look! Thank you, you darling duck of a Vi!"
And Miss Madge threw her arms round her sister, and kissed her vehemently. Violet released herself, laughing, from this outburst of affection and gratitude.
"What a rough creature you are, Madge! There's my hair down, and my collar crumpled—you hug one like a bear."
"Ah, Vi! you're such a calm, sedate duck, I can't help it. I suppose I am rough. I think I ought to have been a boy. Do you know I should like nothing better than to go out now and have a game of snow-balls, only" (and Madge twists her red lips about in a droll way) "I suppose it wouldn't be quite lady-like and proper, would it?"
"Well, perhaps, not quite," says Miss Violet, laughing; "though I daresay, if you put on your bonnet and go round to the Laurels, you'll find Tommy Eastwood very happy to play at snow-balls with you as long as you like."
Madge blushes a superb crimson. How it sets off her brilliant blue eyes!
"Oh, you wicked girl! How dare you talk in that way? I declare you're as bad as papa! He's always teasing me about that wretched little Tommy Eastwood. I won't have it! What do I care about him, I should like to know?"
"Well, Madge, you know you've been taking all those pains with that drawing entirely on his account."
"I haven't! As it happens, I'm going to give this drawing to Aunt Mary. I have long promised it to her—so there you're wrong for once, Vi."
"Why, Madge, I heard you promise it to Tommy Eastwood!"
"Oh, you wicked story-steller! He asked me for it, but I didn't say that I'd give it to him, did I? What do I care for him? Why, my dear Vi, he's a schoolboy—he wears jackets, and he's so short for his age."
"Well, Madge, he'll grow, you know," and Violet seems to enjoy teasing Miss Madge, "and love will soon make you forget his jackets. Then, think what a beautiful work-box he gave you—a most useful present, I must say, considering the enormous amount of work you get through."
"What a tease you are, Vi. I didn't think you could be so spiteful. As if I cared for a Tommy Eastwood! My dear, you make a great mistake. When I love, it shall be a darling at least six feet high, with such pets of mustachios, and sweet black eyes, and lovely curly dark hair."
"Like the figure in the hairdresser's shop at Mowle."
"Yes," says Madge, quite simply; "only handsomer if possible. Hark at that duck of a canary-bird—how he always chimes in when we begin to talk. Sweet! sweet! sweet! Yes; my own darling dickie duckie canary cherub!"
And the young lady rattled off into a long oration greatly affectionate, and purely nonsensical, addressed to her bird. Suddenly she starts up.
"Here comes my darling papa!"
"How are you, Vi?—[kiss, kiss]—How are you, Baby Madge?—[Kiss, kiss, kiss, and many more too numerous to set out. It seemed as though she would never let him go.]—How cold, isn't it? Mind and keep up good fires. Madge, darling, run and fetch a handkerchief from my room."
Madge darted off on the errand. Then Mr. Fuller's manner changed; he turned to Vi, and said in a solemn voice:
"It's all over. The poor old man died quite painlessly at nine o'clock this morning."
