“Well, Cary, shall I bring you a fairing of any sort?”
“Uncle Charles,” I said, leaping to a decision at once, “do bring me Hatty! I am sure she is not happy. Do get Grandmamma to let her come now.”
“Not happy!” cried my Uncle Charles, lifting his eyebrows. “Why, what is the matter with the girl? Can’t she get married? Time enough, surely.”
Oh dear, how can men be so silly! But I let it pass, for I wanted Hatty to come, much more than to make my Uncle Charles sensible. In fact, I am afraid the last would take too much time and labour. There, now, I should not have said that.
“Won’t you try, Uncle Charles? I do want her so much.”
“Child, I cannot interfere with my mother. Ask Hatty to spend the day. Then you can have a talk with her.”
“Uncle, please, will you ask Grandmamma?”
“If you like,” said he, with a laugh.
I heard no more about it till supper-time, when my Uncle Charles said, as if it had just occurred to him (which I dare say it had),—“Madam, I think this little puss is disappointed that Hatty cannot come at once. Might she not spend the day here? It would be a treat for both girls.”
Grandmamma’s snuff-box came out as usual. I sat on thorns, while she rapped her box, opened it, took a pinch, shut the box with a snap, and consigned it to her pocket.