“You have seen enough of the fishes for one morrow,” returned Barbara relentlessly; “and if the fishes could see you, they should cry shame upon you for ruinating of your raiment by the damp grass.”
“But the fishes be damp, Bab!” remonstrated Clare. Barbara professed not to hear the last remark, and lifting the small student of natural history, bore her, pouting and reluctant, to her grandfather on the terrace.
“So here comes my little maid,” said he, pleasantly. “Why didst not abide in the nursery, as thou wert bid, little Clare?”
“I wanted to see the fishes,” returned Clare, still pouting.
“We cannot alway have what we want,” answered he.
“You can!” objected Clare.
“Nay, my child, I cannot,” gravely replied her grandfather. “An’ I could, I would have alway a good, obedient little grand-daughter.”
Clare played with Mr Avery’s stick, and was silent.
“Leave her with me, good Barbara, and go look after thy mighty charges,” said her master, smiling. “I will bring her within ere long.”
Barbara trotted off, and Clare, relieved from the fear of her duenna, went back to her previous subject.