THE BRUSHWOOD BOY
her.] Awfully pretty song. How d' you think of such things?"
"You only composed the music, dear, did n't you?"
"The words too. I 'm sure of it," said Georgie, with a sparkling eye. No; she did not know.
"Yeth; I wrote the words too." Miriam spoke slowly, for she knew she lisped when she was nervous.
"Now how could you tell, Georgie?" said the mother, as delighted as though the youngest major in the army were ten years old, showing off before company.
"I was sure of it, somehow. Oh, there are heaps of things about me, mummy, that you don't understand. Looks as if it were goin' to be a hot day—for England. Would you care for a ride this afternoon, Miss Lacy? We can start out after tea, if you 'd like it."
Miriam could not in decency refuse, but any woman might see she was not filled with delight.
"That will be very nice, if you take the Bassett Road. It will save me sending Martin down to the village," said the mother, filling in gaps.
Like all good managers, the mother had her one weakness—a mania for little strategies that should economise horses and vehicles. Her men-folk complained that she turned them into common carriers, and there was a legend in the family that she had once said to the pater on the morning of a meet: "If you should kill near Bassett, dear, and if it is n't too late, would you mind just popping over and matching me this?"
"I knew that was coming. You 'd never miss a chance, mother. If it 's a fish or a trunk I won't." Georgie laughed.
[423]
