Twemlow replied, having put away the letter, while
her husband let the complainant in. "For the third time this week
we have had prayers without you, and the example is shocking for the
servants. We shall have to establish the rule you suggest--too late to
pray for food, too late to get it. But I have kept your help of bacon
hot, quite hot, by the fire. And the teapot is under the cozy."
"Thank you, dear mother," the young lady answered, careless of words,
if deeds were in her favour, and too clever to argue the question. "I
suppose there is no kind of news this morning to reward one for getting
up so early."
"Nothing whatever for you, Miss Lizzie," said her father, as soon as he
had kissed her. "But the paper is full of the prospects of war, and the
extent of the preparations. If we are driven to fight again, we shall do
it in earnest, and not spare ourselves."
"Nor our enemies either, I do hope with all my heart. How long are we to
be afraid of them? We have always invaded the French till now. And for
them to talk of invading us! There is not a bit of spirit left in this
island, except in the heart of Lord Nelson."
"What a hot little patriot this child is!" said the father, with a quiet
smile at her. "What would she say to an Englishman, who was more French
than English, and would only write French letters? And yet it might be
possible to find such people."
"If such a wretch existed," cried Miss Twemlow, "I should like to
crunch him as I crunch this toast.
Pages:
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108