“But, see!  Mr. Wilkinson, Mr. Perrowne is there; and Fanny also.”

“I have nothing to do, Miss Du Plessis, judging them that are without; Mr. Coristine pertains to my inner circle, and shall know my opinion of his shameful conduct before the sun rises much higher in the heavens.”

“Hi! there, shipmate,” bawled the Captain, “come on and add a link to this here endless chain.  I told you your real name, you sly dog!  Ha, ha!  Will-kiss-em, eh Marjorie?  Not you, you little puss; but your cousin there, colourin’ up like a piney rose.”

“I relinquished such sports with my pinafores,” answered the dominie, grandly.

It was very unjustifiable of Mr. Perrowne, but two things annoyed him; one being the fact that he was equally guilty with the lawyer, the other that Miss Du Plessis had deserted him for this prig of a schoolmaster.  Loud enough to be heard by all, he remarked:—­

“A very learned and distinguished man was once playing with some children, when he suddenly cried, ’Children, we must stop, for I see a fool coming.’  What do you think of that, Captain!”

“Never said a truer word in your life,” growled Mr. Thomas, and continued, “anything as calls itself a man and can’t romp with the youngsters, nor give a joke and take it, had ought to be set in a high chair with a bib, let alone petticuts.”

“He said pinnies, papa,” Marjorie corrected.

“Pinnies or petticuts, it’s all the same thing.  Me and Terry here, old enough to be his fathers!”

“An’ it ’ud be a grate ’anner for me, anyway, to be father to a foine, praper, illigant gintleman loike Mishter Wilkerson,” put in the veteran, anxious to keep the peace.  The embers, however, were smoking on both sides when little Marjorie ran up to the dominie and, taking his hand, said beseechingly:  “Please don’t scold the poor boys and girls, Wilks, because it was my fault—­all my fault.  I made them play.  Now, put down your head and kiss me, and say, ’I forgive you this once, but don’t you go to do it again’; just like papa says.”

There was no help for it, though everybody laughed to hear the terror of the Sacheverell Street school called Wilks, and the grown-up people, girls and boys.  The dominie had to repeat the formula and seal it with a kiss, when the perfidious child turned upon him very gravely, saying:  “Now, sir, you can’t speak, for you’ve done it your very own self.”  Thus it was that a storm was averted, and “drop the handkerchief” broke up in good nature.

“Corry,” said his friend, “I’m going upstairs for my knapsack.  You had better get yours, and prepare to follow our route.  Colonel Morton and Miss Du Plessis are coming here, so that we, as entire strangers, ought no longer to intrude upon the hospitality of Mrs. Carruthers.”

“All right, Wilks, my boy!” replied the tender-hearted lawyer, who felt as if his heart was breaking.  In a few minutes the pedestrians descended ready for the road, when the Squire opened his office door and threw up his arms in amazement.