He was holding a queer-looking, badly done up parcel in his hands.
"Jack! Jack! Come here for a minute--I want you," she called out in her clear, rather high-pitched voice.
He slackened, and it was as if she could see him hesitating, wondering whether he dare pretend he had not heard her.

Then he turned and ran back down the drive and across the wide lawn to the window.
"What is it ?" he asked breathlessly.

"I'm late as it is! I'm taking one of our preserving pans to The Trellis House.

The fruit was all picked yesterday." "I won't be a moment.

I want you to take a letter for me to Mrs.Crofton.
I'm asking her to come in to dinner to-night." She turned back into the room and, sitting down, took up her pen: "Timmy?
Go into the scullery, and help Betty for a bit." After her little son had left the room, she called out to Jack, "Do come inside; it fidgets me to feel that you're standing out there." After what seemed to Jack Tosswill a long time, though it was only three minutes, his step-mother turned, and held out her note: "She needn't write--a verbal answer will do.