There was a breathless silence amongst them whilst this question was being decided, and mother said something to Miss Grey in French; but after a little consultation it was finally settled that they were to go. Dickie had listened to it all, leaving her rice-pudding untasted; now she stretched out her short arm, and, pointing with her spoon at her mother, said:
“Dickie too.”
But Mrs Hawthorn only smiled and shook her head.
“No, not Dickie,” she said; “she is too young to go. Dickie will stay at home with mother.”
Now the vicar was not there—if he had been he would probably have said, “Let her go;” and Dickie knew this—it had happened sometimes before. So now, although she turned down the corners of her mouth and pushed up one fat shoulder, she murmured rather defiantly:
“Dickie will ask father.”
The next day was Saturday—sermon day, and the vicar was writing busily in his study when he heard some uncertain sounds outside, as though some little animal were patting the handle of the door—the cat most likely—and he paid no attention to it, until he felt a light touch on his arm. Looking down he saw that it was Dickie, who, having made her way in, stood at his elbow with eager eyes and a bright flush of excitement on her cheeks.
“Please, father,” she said at once, “take Dickie to see the gee-gees.”
The vicar pushed back his chair a little and lifted her on to his knee. He would have liked to go on with his sermon, but he always found it impossible to send Dickie away if she once succeeded in getting into his study.
“What does Dickie want?” he asked rather absently.