e said, with a glance towards Peter, who was too
engrossed with his train at the other side of the veranda to be
listening. "You don't want to frighten the kids, do you? Besides,
father said we should be all right, and he knows."

"But mother was frightened," Nesta said, looking unconvinced.

"She didn't say so," Eustace argued. "She refused to have either
of the men up, you see. That doesn't look much like funking it."

"Then what did you mean?" demanded Nesta.

"Oh, never mind," Eustace said, throwing himself into a chair and
reopening his book. "Don't let's talk about it."

"That is nonsense," Nesta said. "How can I help minding about a
thing like that?"

"Well, but what's the good of talking?" Eustace exclaimed. "Dad has
to go; we can't prevent that if we talk for ever."

"Yes; but if it is dangerous--" Nesta began in a low, awe-struck
voice.

"Dangerous!" Eustace repeated. "What could there be dangerous about
it?"

"You know as well as I do," Nesta replied. "Supposing the blacks
were to come down on us in the night when we were here all alone!"

"Oh, do shut up!" Eustace said sharply. "Why should the blacks
happen to come just because father is away? They may not even be in
the neighbourhood."

"Yes; but you remember that horrid story Kate told us," Nesta said,
almost whispering. "The father was away--there were nothing but
women and children in the house--"

"Oh, stop, Nesta!" Eustace said. "Of course I remember all about
it. I don't want to hear the beastly thing all over again. What is
the good of frightening ourselves all for nothing? Don't you know
that father wouldn't go if he could possibly help it? And if he
must go, we've got to make the best of it, that's all. Now I'm
going to read, so do shut up."

Nesta stood silently staring at him a moment, but he seemed
already to have forgotten her very existence.

"Well, you are a queer boy," she said, in what the boys always
called her "huffy" voice.

Still Eustace took no notice.

"Perhaps you will be sorry some day," Nesta said with a little
gulp, and turned away to Becky, who was calling her.

Eustace was apparently engrossed in his book, but not a word did
he see on the page he stared at so intently. He had done a stupid
thing, and he regretted it, for the mischief was past remedy now.
Quite unintentionally he had made Nesta as nervous as he was
himself, and he knew that nothing he might say would reassure her.
He was quite right that t