In the evening, soon after supper, there came a gentle tap to the
door of lady Margaret's parlour. At that time she was understood to
be disengaged, and willing to see any of the household. Harry
happened to be with her, and she sent him to the door to see who it
was.
'It is Tom Fool,' he said, returning. 'He begs speech of you,
madam--with a face as long as the baker's shovel, and a mouth as
wide as an oven-door.'
With their Irish stepmother the children took far greater freedoms
than would have been permitted them by the jealous care of their own
mother over their manners.
Lady Margaret smiled: this was probably the first fruit of her
husband's astrological investigations.
'Tell him he may enter, and do thou leave him alone with me, Harry,'
she said.
Allowing for exaggeration, Harry had truly reported Tom's
appearance. He was trembling from head to foot, and very white.
'What aileth thee, Tom, that thou lookest as thou had seen a
hobgoblin?' said lady Margaret.
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