Part 32 (1/2)

But even Janet herself was observed to blow her own nose very often, and to offer Hugh John the small garden hoe instead of the neatly wrapped new silk umbrella she had bought for him out of her own money.

And all the while Sir Toady Lion kept on carrying milk and fresh lettuce leaves to his stupid lop-eared rabbits. Yet it was by no means insensibility which kept him thus busied. He was only playing his usual lone hand.

Yet even Toady Lion was not without his own proper sense of the importance of the occasion.

”There's a funny fing 'at you wants to see at the stile behind the stable,” he remarked casually to Hugh John, as he went past the front door with an armful of hay for bedding, ”but I promised not to tell w'at it is.”

Immediately Hugh John slunk out, ran off in an entirely different direction, circled about the ”office houses,” reached the stile behind the stable--and there, with her eyes very big, and her underlip quivering strangely, he discovered Cissy Carter.

He stopped short and looked at her. The pressure of having to say farewell, or of making a stated speech of any kind, weighed heavily upon him. The two looked at each other like young wild animals--or as if they were children who had never been introduced, which is the same thing.

”Hugh John Picton, you don't care!” sobbed Cissy at last. ”And I don't care either!” she added haughtily, commanding herself after a pathetic little pause.

”I do, I do,” answered Hugh John vehemently, ”only every fellow has to. Sammy is going too, you know!”

”Oh, I don't care a b.u.t.ton for Sammy!” was Cissy's most unsisterly speech.

Hugh John tried to think of something to say. Cissy was now sobbing quietly and persistently, and that did not seem to help him.

”Say, don't now, Ciss! Stop it, or you'll make me cry too!”

”You don't care! You don't love me a bit! You know you don't!”

”I do--I do,” protested the hero, in despair, ”there--there--_now_ you can't say I don't care.”

”But you'll be so different when you come back, and you'll have lost your half of the crooked sixpence.”

”I won't, for true, Cissy--and I shan't ever look at another girl nor play horses with them even if they ask me ever so.”

”You will, I know you will!”

A rumble of wheels, a shout from the front door--”Hugh John--wherever can that boy have got to?”

”Good-bye, Ciss, I must go. Oh hang it, don't go making a fellow cry.

Well, I _will_ say it then, 'I love you, Ciss!' There--will that satisfy you?”

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”A SLIM BUNDLE OF LIMP WOE.”]

Something lit on the end of Cissy's nose, which was very red and wet with the tears that had run down it. There was a clatter of feet, and the Lord of Creation had departed. Cissy sank down behind the stone wall, a slim bundle of limp woe, done up in blue serge trimmed with scarlet.

The servants were gathered in the hall. Several of the maids were already wet-eyed, for Hugh John had ”the way with him” that made all women want to ”mother” him. Besides, he had no mother of his own.

”Good-bye, Master Hugh!” they said, and sniffed as they said it.

”Good-bye, everybody,” cried the hero, ”soon be back again, you know.”

He said this very loudly to show that he did not care. He was going down the steps with Prissy's fingers clutched in his, and every one was smiling. All went merry as a marriage bell--never had been seen so jovial a way-going.