“Oh, I dare say; I am quite cut out. Ask Mr. Farebrother.”
“Yes,” added Mary; “ask Mr. Farebrother to tell you about the ants whose beautiful house was knocked down by a giant named Tom, and he thought they didn’t mind because he couldn’t hear them cry, or see them use their pocket-handkerchiefs.”
“Please,” said Louisa, looking up at the Vicar.
“No, no, I am a grave old parson. If I try to draw a story out of my bag a sermon comes instead. Shall I preach you a sermon?” said he, putting on his shortsighted glasses, and pursing up his lips.
“Yes,” said Louisa, falteringly.
“Let me see, then.
- Against cakes: how cakes are bad things, especially if they are sweet and have plums in them.”
Louisa took the affair rather seriously, and got down from the Vicar’s knee to go to Fred.
“Ah, I see it will not do to preach on New Year’s Day,” said Mr. Farebrother, rising and walking away. He had discovered of late that Fred had become jealous of him, and also that he himself was not losing his preference for Mary above all other women.
“A delightful young person is Miss Garth,” said Mrs. Farebrother, who had been watching her son’s movements.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Vincy, obliged to reply, as the old lady turned to her expectantly. “It is a pity she is not better-looking.”