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"It's not blacking, of course," continued John, looking at the thick
liquor with distrust.
"The betht black currant," exclaimed his heir, "at thirteen-penth a
bottle."
"And where's Cray?" exclaimed John, suddenly observing the absence of
his young guest.
"He's down in the kitchen, dishing up the pudding," said Barbara
blushing, and she darted out of the room, and presently returned, other
footsteps following hers.
"Cray," exclaimed John, as the boy seemed inclined to linger outside,
"don't stand there in the draught. And so it is not by your virtuous
inclinations that you have hitherto been excluded from this festive
scene?"
"No, sir," said Crayshaw with farcical meekness of voice and air, "quite
the contrary. It was that I've met with a serious accident. I've been
run over."
John looked aghast. "You surely have not been into the loose-box," he
said anxiously.
"Oh no, father, nothing of the sort," said Barbara. "It was only that he
was down in the kitchen on his knees, and two blackbeetles ran over his
legs. You should never believe a word he says, father.


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