“Chut!” said Pete. “There's such a dale of comic in you, boys. Wonder in
the world to me you're not kidnapped for pantaloonses. Go home for all
and wipe your eyes, and remember the words he's been spaking. I'm not
going to forget them myself, anyway.”
Handing over the big drum to little Jonaique, Pete turned to go into the
house. Auntie Nan was in the hall, hopping like a canary about Philip,
in a brown silk dress that rustled like withered ferns, hugging him,
drawing him down to the level of her face, and kissing him on the
forehead. The tears were raining over the autumn sunshine of her
wrinkled cheeks, and her voice was cracking between a laugh and a cry.
“My boy! My dear boy! My boy's boy! My own boy's own boy!”
Philip freed himself at length, and went upstairs without turning his
head, and then Auntie Nan saw Pete standing in the doorway.
“Is it you, Pete?” she said with an effort. “Won't you come in for a
moment? No?”
“A minute only, then--just to wish you joy, Miss Christian, ma'am,” said
Pete.
“And you, too, Peter. Ah!” she said, with a bird-like turn of the head,
“you must be a proud man to-night, Pete.”
“Proud isn't the word for it, ma'am--I'm clane beside myself.”
“He took a fancy to you when you were only a little barefooted boy,
Pete.”
“So he did, ma'am.”
“And now that he's Deemster itself he owns you still.”
“Aw, lave him alone for that, ma'am.”
“Did you hear what he said about you in his speech. It isn't everybody
in his place would have done that before all, Pete.”
“'Deed no, ma'am.”
“He's true to his friends, whatever they are.”
“True as steel.”
The maid was carrying the dishes into the dining-room, and Auntie Nan
said in a strained way, “You won't stay to dinner, Pete, will you?
Perhaps you want to get home to the mistress. Well, home is best for all
of us, isn't it? Martha, I'll tell the Deemster myself that dinner is on
the table. Well, good-night, Peter. I'm always so glad to see you.”
She was whisking about to go upstairs, but Pete had taken one step into
the dining-room, and was gazing round with looks of awe.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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