“And I don’t care for her, the crosspatch,” said Johnnie to Annie, never hearing or heeding Miss Fosbrook’s fervent “I am so glad!”
And as long as the foolish boy remembered it, he always did believe that Miss Fosbrook was so cross as to want to hinder them from their bonfire, only Purday would not let her.
Miss Fosbrook did not trouble herself to be understood; she was relieved to have done her duty, and be free to rejoice in and share the pleasure. She ran about and collected materials for Sam till she was out of breath, and joined in all the excitement as the fire showed symptoms of reviving, after being apparently crushed out by Purday. Sam and Susan, at least, believed that she had only spoken to Purday because she thought it right; but even for them to forgive interference with their bonfire privileges was a great stretch.
At last she thought it time to leave them to their own devices, and seize the moment for some quiet reading; but she had not reached the house before little steps came after her, and she saw Elizabeth running fast.
“They are so tiresome,” she said. “Sam won’t let me stand anywhere but where the smoke gets into my eyes, and George plagues so! May I come in with you, dear Christabel?”
“You are very welcome,” said Miss Fosbrook, “but I am sorry to hear so many complaints.”
“They are so cross to me,” said Bessie; “they always are.”
“You must try to be cheerful and good-humoured with them, and they will leave off vexing you.”
“But may I come in? It will be a nice time for my secret.”
Christabel saw little hope for her intended reading, but she was always glad of a space for making Bessie happy, so she kindly consented to the bringing out of the little girl’s treasury, and the dismal face grew happy and eager. The subjects of the drawings were all clear in her head; that was not the difficulty, but the cardboard, the ribbon, the real good paints. One little slip of card Miss Fosbrook hunted out of her portfolio; she cut a pencil of her own, and advised the first attempt to be made upon a piece of paper. The little bird that Bessie produced was really not at all bad, and her performance was quite fair enough to make it worth while to go on, since Miss Fosbrook well knew that mammas are pleased with works of their children, showing more good-will than skill. For why? Their value is in the love and thought they show.