D’Arcy’s black eyes twinkled with merriment. “How do you do, Mother Bunch?” said he.
“My _dear_ D’Arcy!” said Lady Adelaide, reproachfully.
“Mamma, I am not rude. I am only joking. She calls me Bogy, so I call her Mother Bunch.”
“But I’m _not_ Mother Bunch,” said Amabel.
“Yes, you are,” said Amabel. “Only you had very old clothes on in the wood.”
Lady Craikshaw had cruelly warned Lady Adelaide that Amabel sometimes told stories, and, thinking that the child was romancing, Lady Adelaide tried to change the subject. But D’Arcy cried, “Oh, do let her talk, mamma. I do so like her. She is such fun!”
“You oughtn’t to laugh at me,” said poor Amabel, as D’Arcy took her into the dining-room, “I gave you my paint-box.”
The boy’s stare of amazement awoke a doubt in Amabel’s mind of his identity with the Bogy of the woods. Between constantly peeping at him, and her anxiety to conduct herself conformably to her size in the etiquette of the dinner-table, she did not eat much. When dinner was over, and D’Arcy led her away to the rocking horse, he asked, “Do you still think I’m Bogy?”
“N—no,” said Amabel, “I think perhaps you’re not. But you’re very like him, though you talk differently. Do you make pictures?”
When she was going away, D’Arcy asked, “Which do you like best, me or Bogy?”
Amabel pondered. “I like you very much. You made the rocking-horse go so fast; but I liked Bogy. He carried me all up the hill, and he picked up my moss. I wasn’t afraid of him. I gave him a kiss.”
“Well, give me a kiss,” said D’Arcy. But there was a tone of raillery in his voice which put Amabel on her dignity, and she shook her head, and began to go down the steps of the house, one leg at a time.
“If I’m Bogy, you know, you _have_ kissed me _once_,” shouted D’Arcy. But Amabel’s wits were as well developed as her feet.
“Once is enough for bogies,” said she, and went sturdily away.
JAN FULFILS ABEL’S CHARGE.—SON OF THE MILL.—THE LARGE-MOUTHED WOMAN.
BY the time Jan went back to the windmill he was quite well.
“Ye’ll be fit for the walk by I open school,” said Master Swift.
Jan promised himself that he would redouble his pains in class, from gratitude to the good schoolmaster. But it was not to be.
The day before the school opened, Jan came to the cottage. “Master Swift,” said he, “I be come to tell ye that I be afraid I can’t come to school.”