Miss Agrippina acted promptly on his decision, lest it should be repented of and withdrawn.
“This is Friday, the 14th of August,” she said. “I will myself leave here with the child on Monday, the 17th. We will go to Baltimore and stop at some good family boarding-house. Then I will go to the Academy of the Sacred Heart, and make an engagement to enter her on the reopening of the school exercises on the first of September, get a list of the articles required for her school uniform and outfit, have them purchased and made up in the interval, enter my little lady on the opening day, and come home. All this will take me about a fortnight, I suppose,” said Miss Grip.
And the same day she packed up a few changes of clothes for herself and her niece, and then communicated to the child that she was to go to school on the following Monday.
Her words conveyed but a tithe of the truth to the inexperienced little girl, who forthwith went to her “dee-ar Marcel” for further information.
She found him in his favorite seat—the old chip-bottomed arm-chair, on the front porch.
“Am I really going away from you to school, uncle dee-ar?” she inquired, seating herself on his knees and putting her arms around his neck.
“Yes, my darling. You are a little lady, and must be educated, cultivated, refined, accomplished. And so you must go to school,” replied “Marcel,” laying her tender cheek against his hirsute face.
“But I don’t want to be all that, uncle. I want to stay with you always, and play with David Lindsay.”
Marcel caressed her tenderly, and explained gently the absolute necessity of her submission to the social law that required her to be educated.
“Won’t you be lonesome without your little Glo’, Marcel, dee-ar!”