"It is probably in this pantry, my good girl, because it is the last place I should expect it to be in.

I left it on my bedroom mantelpiece, but somebody has seen fit to meddle with it.

Why in the name of all that is mysterious can't you let my things alone ?" "And for what should I be after moving it for ?" Martha retorted.
"I don't mix the pastry with it to make it lightsome, leastway not ordinarily." She tossed her head, and the action revealed the small, kneeling, terrified figure at the window.

Now the door was only half open, and her master was standing just beside it outside, so she only had the benefit of the spectacle.
Twice she opened her mouth to speak, but Bunty made such frantic, imploring faces at her than she closed it again, and even began to examine the bottles on the shelf near the door to give the boy an opportunity of retreat.
One minute and he would, have been safe--one minute and he would have been in the thick of the cactus, that had quite lost its terrors.
But the Fates were too strong for him.

And all because Martha Tomlinson's shoe was don at the heel.