But why didn't you play?"

I told her, and she expressed her sympathy. Then, in a very decided
way,--

"Sweets and puffs aren't good for you, sir, and I won't sell you one
to-day."

"I don't want any, Polly," I replied. "I was going to ask you to sell
me a cup of tea."

"And I won't do that neither, sir; but I'm going to make myself some
directly, and if you'll condescend to sit down in father's big chair and
have some, I should be glad."

To the girl's great delight, I accepted her offer. The kettle hanging
over the smouldering fire of wood ashes was soon boiling, and I partook
of a delicious tea, with fresh water-cresses from the spring, and cream
in my tea from the General's dairy, while Polly cut bread and butter,
and chatted about "father's" troubles with the poachers, and about the
baits he had been getting ready for our next fishing visit to the ponds.
Then again about the cricket match, and we were carrying on an animated
conversation when the door was thrown quickly open, and Bob Hopley
appeared.

"Oh, dad, how you startled me!" cried Polly, jumping up.

"Startled you, my lass? I heerd loud talking and I'd been told young
Magglin had come down this way, and I thought it was him."

"I saw him just before I came in, over by the pond there by the copse,"
I said.

"He wasn't likely to be in here, father," said Polly primly. "I should
like to catch him trying to come in."

"So should I," said the keeper grimly. "I'd try oak that time 'stead o'
hazel."

"Hush, dad! do adone," whispered Polly. Then aloud--

"Master Burr's been poorly all day, and as they were all feasting and
junketing at the school, he come down here to ask me to make him some
tea, and he's very welcome, aren't he, father?"

"I should just think he is, my lass. But fill up his cup again, and
he's got no fresh butter."

"I've done," I said; "and oh, I do feel so much better now! Do you know
what a bad sick headache is?"

"No, my lad, no. I aren't had one since--"

"Oh, father!"

"Come, Polly, don't be hard on a man. That was only the club feast."

"I haven't patience with such feasts," said Polly sharply. "I never go
to feasts, and come back--"

"Poorly, my lass, poorly," said Bob hastily.

"Yes, very poorly," said Polly sarcastically, "and say, `My head's fit
to split,' next day. Seems to me that's all such heads are fit for
then--to split and burn."

"Nay, nay, my lass, they burn quite enough, I can tell '