"Jane," said Lydia, addressing the cook, "we must all do with a cold
dinner to-day, and not too much of that, for, as you write a very
neat hand, I want you to help me with the inventory, and it has got
to be begun at once. I told Mr. Preston I would have no agent
pottering about the place. 'Tis a long job, but I will do it myself."
"What's an inkin-dory?" asked Maurice, raising a curious little face
to Jane.
"Bless yer heart, honey," said Jane, stooping down and kissing him,
"an inventory you means. Why, 'tis just this--Mrs. Purcell and me--we
has got to write down the names of every single thing in the house
--every stick, and stone, and old box, and even, I believe, the names
of the doors and cupboards. That's an inventory, and mighty sick
we'll be of it."
"Come, Jane, stop chattering," said Lydia. "Maurice, run out at
once. You'll find me in the attics, Jane, when you've done. We'll get
well through the attics to-day."
Aunt Lydia turned on her heel, and Maurice and Cecile went slowly
out. Very slow, indeed, were Cecile's footsteps.
"How dull you are, Cecile!" said the little boy.
"I'm not very well," said Cecile. "Maurice," she continued suddenly,
"you go and play with Toby, darling. Go into the fields, and not too
far away; and don't stay out too late. Here's our lunch. No, I don't
want any. I'm going to lie down. Yes, maybe I'll come out again."
She ran away before Maurice had even time to expostulate. She was
conscious that a crisis had come, that a great dread was over her,
that there might yet be time to take the purse from its hiding place.
Pages:
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82