"I'd like to wait, Cousin Jane," he replied in an eager tone.
"I'll make a cup of tea and take a bit of bread and cold meat up to Mrs. Bond. Then I'll come back and set the table."
She had lighted the lamps while she was talking, and Charles hurried up with his neglected lessons, studying in earnest.
It was half-past seven when his father came in. No one fretted, however. His brisk walk had given him a good colour, and his eyes had brightened. He seemed so pleased that they had waited for him. Cousin Jane did make events go on smoothly. The tea was hot, as he liked it; and there was a plate of toast, of which he was very fond.
When he took out his paper, he said to Charles:—
"You might run over to the Deans and tell them the good news. They have been so kind about inquiring. I wouldn't stay more than ten or fifteen minutes."
He had not been over in a week, and they were glad to see him, as well as to hear the hopeful tidings. But the girls had quite a bit of casuistry in their talk that night as they were going to bed, partly as to how Charles could be so glad, and partly whether one ought to be glad under all circumstances, when events happened that did not really tend to one's comfort.
"But Mary Dawson said she wasn't sorry when her stepmother died, and she wouldn't tell a story about it. Her stepmother wasn't much crosser than Mrs. Reed. You know Mrs. Dawson wouldn't let the girls go to singing-school, and she made them wear their outgrown dresses, and she did whip them dreadfully. I couldn't have been sorry either."
"But it would be awful not to have any one sorry when you were dead."
"I think," began Josie, gravely, "we ought to act so people will be sorry. If you are good and kind, and do things pleasantly—Mrs. Reed is always doing; but I guess it is a good deal the way you do. You see mother and father do think of the things we like, when they are right and proper. They show they love us and like to have us love them in return."