The headache had been carried off by a good night’s rest; a droll, scrambling breakfast had been eaten, German fashion, with its headquarters on the kitchen table; and everybody running about communicating their discoveries. Bobus and Jock had set off to school, and poor little Armine, who firmly believed that his rejection was in consequence of his confusion between os, ossis, and os, oris, and was very sore about it, had gone with Allen and Barbara to see them on their way, and Mother Carey and Janet had agreed to get some real work done and were actually getting through business, when in rushed, rosy and eager, Allen, Armine, and Babie, with arms stretched and in breathless haste.
“Mother Carey! Oh, mother! mammie, dear! come and see!”
“Come—where?”
“To fairy-land. Get her bonnet, Babie.”
“Out of doors, you boy? just look there!”
“Oh! bother all that! It can wait.”
“Do pray come, mother,” entreated Armine; “you never saw anything like it!”
“What is it? Will it take long?” said she, beginning to yield, as Babie danced about with her bonnet, Armine tugged at her, and Allen look half-commanding, half-coaxing.
“She is not to know till she sees! No, don’t tell her,” said Armine. “Bandage her eyes, Allen. Here’s my silk handkerchief.”
“And Janet. She mustn’t see,” cried Babie, in ecstasy.