"I've had enough," she said, nodding to Mrs. Freeman in her bright way. "I'm going out into the garden now, to pick some roses.""I don't mean that sort of learning, Bridget. I mean what you acquire from books—grammar, French, music."On this special night in the mid-term the girls who were ignominiously obliged to retire to their bedrooms felt a sorer sense of being left out than ever."Janet," said Mrs. Freeman, "come here for a [Pg 47]moment. I want you to use your young eyes. Do you see any carriage coming down the hill?"
There was little use, therefore, in rushing out of her prison to join her companions in their playground or on the shore.
"Dear Janey, you always were the soul of sense," remarked Dorothy, in a somewhat languid voice. "For my part I pity those poor little mites, Violet and the rest of them. I know they are just as curious with regard to the issue of events as we are, and yet I can see them at this moment, with my mental vision, being driven like sheep into the fold. They'll be in bed, poor mites, when we are satisfying our curiosity."She stood wavering with her own conscience. Caspar was nervous, but he was not vicious.
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The girls took their places at the table—grace was said, and the meal began."Now, my dear child, will you come into the house with me? I ought to be in the schoolroom now."
Mrs. Freeman could not help uttering a faint, inward sigh.
"Oh, foolish do you call it?" A passing cloud swept over Bridget O'Hara's face. It quickly vanished, however; she jumped up with a little sigh.
"There, thank Heaven, I haven't killed her!" exclaimed Bridget.