"Let us go and give her a turn," cried the Squire.
Tod laughed. "What, all of us?" said he.
"To be sure. All of us. Why not? We'll start to-morrow."
"Oh dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Todhetley, dismay in her mild tones. "Children
and all?"
"Children and all; and take Hannah to see to them," said the Squire.
"You don't count, Joe: you will be off elsewhere."
"We could never be ready," said the Mater, looking the image of
perplexity. "To-morrow's Friday. Besides, there would be no time to
write to Mary."
"_Write to her!_" cried the Squire, turning sharply on his heel as he
paced the room in his nankeen morning-coat. "And who do you suppose is
going to write to her? Why, it would cause her to make all sorts of
preparation, put her to no end of trouble. A pretty conjurer you'd make!
We will take her by surprise: that's what we will do."
"But if, when we got there, we should find her rooms are let, sir?" said
I, the possibility striking me.
"Then we'll go into others, Johnny. A spell at the seaside will be a
change for us all."
This conversation, and the Squire's planning-out, arose through a letter
we had just received from Mary Blair--poor Blair's widow, if you have
not forgotten him, who went to his end through that Gazette of Jerry's.
After a few ups and downs, trying at this thing for a living, trying at
that, Mrs. Blair had now settled in a house at the seaside, and opened a
day-school. She hoped to get on in it in time, she wrote, especially if
she could be so fortunate as to let her drawing-room to visitors. The
Squire, always impulsive and good-hearted, at once cried out that _we_
would go and take it.
"It will be doing her a good turn, you see," he ran on; "and when
we leave I dare say she'll find other people ready to go in. Let's
see"--picking up the letter to refer to the address--"No. 6, Seaboard
Terrace, Montpellier-by-Sea. Whereabouts is Montpellier-by-Sea?"
"Never heard of it in my life," cried Tod. "Don't believe there is such
a place."
"Be quiet, Joe. I fancy it lies somewhere towards Saltwater."