"Too like a pinafore, eh?" said he, with a sly laugh.
"I don't think I ought to wear pinafores now," I said, in a grave and
injured tone. "Leo Damer doesn't, and he's not much older than I am.
But I think," I added, candidly, "he rather does as he likes, because
he's got nobody to look after him."
The parson laughed, and then gave a heavy sigh.
"I wish my mother could come back, and tie a pinafore round my neck!"
he exclaimed, abruptly. Then I believe he suddenly remembered that I
had lost my mother and was vexed with himself for his hasty speech. I
saw nothing inconsiderate in the remark, however, and only said,
"Is your mother dead?"
"Yes, my boy. Many years ago," said Mr. Andrewes.
"Did your father marry anybody else?" I inquired.
"My father died before my mother."
"Dear me," said I; "how very sad! Leo's father and mother died
together. They were drowned in his father's yacht." I was in the
middle of a history of my friend Leo, and of my visit to London, when
a bell pealed loudly through the house.
"Somebody's in a hurry," said Mr. Andrewes; "that's the front-door
bell."
In three minutes the dining-room door was opened, and the servant
announced "Mr.
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