“And should have been now,” Crayshaw gasped out, “only I ran over here just after my lunch.”

Emily, the only person seated on a chair, John’s throne in fact, was far back in the room, and could not be seen from below.  A few minutes passed away, while Crayshaw began to breathe like, other people, and a certain scratching noise was heard below, upon which significant looks entreated her to be silent.  She thought she would let things take their course, and sat still for a minute, when a casement was flung open below, and a shrill voice cried, “Mr. Swan, I say, here’s Mr. Brandon in the stable yard, and another gentleman, and they want very particular to know where Master Johnnie is.”

“I can’t say I know, cookie,” answered Swan.

“And,” continued the same shrill voice, “if you can’t tell ’em that, they’d like to know where Matthew is?”

Matthew was the coachman, and Swan’s rival.

“Just as if I knew! why, he’s so full of fads he won’t trust anybody, and nothing ever suits him.  You may tell them, if you like,” he answered, not intending her to take him at his word, “that I expect he’s gone to dig his own grave, for fear when he’s dead they shouldn’t do it to his mind.”

The cook laughed and slammed the casement.

Presently, coming round to the front garden, wheels were heard grating on the gravel, and Brandon’s voice shouted, “Swan, Swan, I say, is young Crayshaw here?”

“No, sir,” Swan shouted in reply; “not as I know of.”

Two voices were heard to parley at a distance, great excitement prevailed up in Parliament, excepting in the mind of Anastasia, whose notion of her own part in this ceremony of hiding was that she must keep her little feet very even and close together beside Johnnie’s great ones; so she took no notice, though hasty footsteps were heard, and a voice spoke underneath, “Whereabout can young Mortimer be? we must find him.”

“I don’t know, sir,” repeated Swan, still raking peaceably.

“He cannot be very far off, Swanny,” said Brandon, “we saw him up the poplar-tree not a quarter of an hour ago.”

“Ay, sir, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Swan carelessly.  “Bless you, whether their folks air rich or poor, they never think at that age what it costs to clothe ’em.  I never found with my boys that they’d done climbing for crows’ eggs till such time as they bought their own breeches.  After that trees were nought but lumber, and crows were carrion.”

“But we really must find these boys, if we can,” exclaimed Brandon; “and it seems as if they had all the family with them, the place is so quiet.  Where do you think they can have gone?”

“I haven’t a notion, sir—­maybe up to the fir-woods, maybe out to the common—­they roam all about the country on half-holidays.”

“Oh,” said the other voice, “they may go where they please, may they?”

“Naturally so,” said Swan; “they may go anywhere, sir, or do anything in reason, on a half-holiday.  It would be a shame to give a pig leave to grunt, and then say he’s not to grunt through his nose.”