“Oh, papa, that would not be fair—” began Ethel; but Margaret knew he would not act on this, squeezed her hand, and silenced her.
“One thing I’ve said, and I’ll hold to it,” continued Dr. May; “if they outvote Wilmot again in your Ladies’ Committee, I’ll have no more to do with them, as sure as my name’s Dick May. It is a scandal the way things are done here!”
“Papa,” said Richard, who had all the time been standing silent, “Ethel and I have been thinking, if you approved, whether we could not do something towards teaching the Cocksmoor children, and breaking them in for the Sunday-school.”
What a bound Ethel’s heart gave, and how full of congratulation and sympathy was the pressure of Margaret’s hand!
“What did you think of doing?” said the doctor. Ethel burned to reply, but her sister’s hand admonished her to remember her compact. Richard answered, “We thought of trying to get a room, and going perhaps once or twice a week to give them a little teaching. It would be little enough, but it might do something towards civilising them, and making them wish for more.”
“How do you propose to get a room?”
“I have reconnoitred, and I think I know a cottage with a tolerable kitchen, which I dare say we might hire for an afternoon for sixpence.”
Ethel, unable to bear it any longer, threw herself forward, and sitting on the ground at her father’s feet, exclaimed, “Oh, papa! papa! do say we may!”
“What’s all this about?” said the doctor, surprised.
“Oh! you don’t know how I have thought of it day and night these two months!”