“Yes, I do,” replied Nancy quickly, “I’ve given up three weeks’ money for that broken window.”
“That wasn’t sacrifice,” answered Pennie; “you had to do that. Sacrifice means giving up something you like for the sake of other people.”
“Well, if it makes you cross and tiresome I wish you wouldn’t sacrifice things,” replied Nancy; “I don’t see the good of it. Do you know,” she added, seizing hold of David’s black kitten, “that mother says we may go and see old Nurse?”
Pennie’s brow cleared at once, the peevish look left her face.
“Oh, when?” she exclaimed joyfully.
“This afternoon,” said Nancy. “Mother’s going to drive into Nearminster, and leave us at the College while she goes to see Miss Unity. Isn’t it jolly?”
“I suppose we shall have tea with Nurse,” said Pennie; “but,” she added, “I hope Dickie isn’t to go this time. She does spoil everything so.”
“Only you and me,” said Nancy, rolling the kitten tightly up in a newspaper so that only its head appeared. “Doesn’t it look like a mummy cat? There’s one just like it at Nearminster. It would do for the boys’ museum.”
“It wouldn’t stay there long,” said Pennie, as the kitten writhed and wriggled itself out of the paper. “I am real glad we’re going to see old Nurse.”
“Do you like going in winter or summer best?” asked Nancy.