“In the simple life anything like condescension jars. If Minerva and James consent to sing I must ask that they be allowed to sit in the carriage and that you make one of us on the ground. I will get chairs.”
“Oh, no, we will stand.”
And the daughter said languidly, “We sometimes drive over to the country fairs, and it is awfully jolly to stand alongside the carriage and watch the races. We have done it on the other side, too.”
“Oh, I know they always do it there,” said I, with enthusiasm. “Many’s the picture I’ve seen of it.”
I went in and found Minerva ironing, while James was blacking the stove.
“Will you please tidy yourselves up a bit and come out and sing for two of our friends?” said I. “They are influential city people, and they may not be able to attend the concert. You’re to sit in their carriage and sing.”
They were, of course, delighted, being two children, and I left them tidying up, and hurried back.
Ethel had gone into the house for something, but she soon came out with a bowl of blue berries and two napkins.
“Will you help yourselves?” said she.
Mrs. Guernsea looked at her daughter, and her daughter looked at Mrs. Guernsea. They were too well bred to suggest that anything was missing, but they were evidently thinking of saucers and spoons. I came to the rescue, knowing that Ethel had entered into my madness.