"Yes, oh yes!" exclaimed Sylvia.
"And miss the fireworks?"
"I don't mind."
"You are a good little friend, but it is not necessary. Linda may come to the bonfire, and you shall have the pleasure of running upstairs at once and telling her so yourself."
You may be sure that Sylvia flew like an arrow to her bedroom to announce the delightful news, and that it did not take Linda long to put on her outdoor clothes and join the crowd which was already assembling in the courtyard.
Mr. Cameron had just arrived. He was a tall, jolly, rather elderly gentleman, with a grey moustache and an endless stock of jokes, which he fired off like crackers among the girls. They all knew him well, as he often came to Heathercliffe House. His daughter Doris had been educated there, and though she was now nineteen, she was fond of her old school, and had accompanied her father this evening to watch the fireworks.
"Out of my way!" shouted Mr. Cameron; "make room for the principal figure, the leading actor on the stage, we may call him, and if you don't admire him, it's your own bad taste!"
He was staggering from the house as he spoke, carrying in his arms a huge guy, stuffed with straw, whose comical red face, dangling arms, and helpless legs roused shouts of laughter all round.
"There," said Mr. Cameron, seating him on a convenient barrel in the midst of the bonfire, "anyone can change places with him who likes; he mayn't look clever, but at any rate I can guarantee he'll get a warm reception before he even takes the trouble to open his mouth. Now then, stand back, children; we're going to begin."