‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. “Look here, father,” she said, with a change in her voice, “suppose I won’t stand it?” He regarded her as though this was a new idea. But I know very well that that word will never be spoken. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care.
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