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Updated: May 23, 2025
"Whose horse is that in the stable, John?" she said, the moment their eyes met. "Mr. Whichcote's, madam," answered John: mother he could not say. "You intend to keep up your late relations with those persons?" "I do." "You mean to marry the hussy?" "I mean to marry the lady to whom you give that epithet. There are those who think it not quite safe for you to call other people names!"
Hooray!" and he scampered headlong up the garden, prolonging his voice into a tremendous shout as he got farther off, leaving every one laughing, and his mother tenderly observing that he was going to run a quarter of a mile and back, and lose his only chance of pudding for the week old Bishop Whichcote's rules contemplating no fare but daily mutton, to be bought at a shilling per sheep.
"It is all right," said Harry; and the two brothers said no more; there was something rising up in their throats at the thought that they had very few more walks to take together to Bishop Whichcote's school; Norman's heart was very full at the prospect of another vacancy in his home, and Harry's was swelling between the ardour of enterprise and the thought of bidding good-bye to each familiar object, and, above all, to the brother who had been his model and admiration from babyhood.
Whichcote could tell her anything of her son: he had left the house unseen, during a feverish attack, and as she could get no tidings of him, she was in great anxiety. She had accidentally heard that he had made Mr. Whichcote's acquaintance, and therefore took the liberty of extending to him the inquiry she had already made everywhere else among his friends.
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