"Hallo!" he uttered, at the sight of Ivy seated solemnly with her face to the wall. "I say—what's up now!"
Miss Anne Storey told him. Then she got up, and said—
"I must look out the paper that your uncle wants. Will you wait here for a minute, Chris?"
"May I speak to Ivy?" asked the boy.
"Certainly," Miss Anne answered, for she knew she could trust Chris.
Miss Anne left the room, and Chris walked straight across to where the deplorable little figure sat, picked up Ivy bodily, took her place, and planted her on his knee. Ivy submitted without a word.
"I say, this is uncommon dull!" was his first remark. "I shouldn't like to sit here for half-an-hour! Un—common—dull!"
Ivy drew a sobbing breath. She was getting very tired of the position.
"So you can't spell cat, eh? Not spell cat! Why, you must be the densest little dunderhead of a mortal that ever existed. Not able to spell cat! I never heard of such a thing!" The boy spoke with disdainful severity, while with one hand, he stroked the long golden-brown hair.
Ivy held her head as high as it was possible to hold it.