“Well, how would you like to be put to the same school that they are going to attend?”
“Oh, so much! So very much, Aunt Sukey! I never dreamed of such happiness as that! I do so much want to get a good education!” exclaimed the little girl, firing with enthusiasm.
“Well, my dear child, I think the opportunity of sending you to school with Wynnette and Elva, and under the protection of Mr. and Mrs. Force, is such an excellent one that it ought not to be lost. I will speak to my sister Hedge about it, and if she will consent to your going I will be at the cost of sending you,” said the lady, as she began to roll up her knitting, for the last gleam of the winter twilight had faded out of the sky and it was getting too dark even to knit.
For once in her life Rosemary had forgotten to call for the curtains to be let down and the candle to be lit and the novel brought forth. For once the interests of real life had banished the memory of romance.
But Henny knew what was expected of her, and so she put up her cards, went and lighted the tallow candle, pulled down the window blinds, replenished the fire, and reseated herself on her three-legged stool in the chimney corner.
Rosemary, recalled to the interests of the evening, went and brought forth the “treasured volume” from the upper bureau drawer and gave it to her aunt to read. Then she settled herself in her low chair to listen.
It was still that long romance of “The Children of the Abbey” that was the subject of their evening readings. And they had now reached a most thrilling crisis, where the heroine was in the haunted castle; when suddenly the sound of wheels was heard to grate on the gravel outside, accompanied by girlish voices.
And soon there came a knock at the door.
“Who in the world can that be at this hour, after dark?” inquired Miss Grandiere, as Henny arose and opened the door.
Odalite, Wynnette and Elva came in, in their poke bonnets and buttoned coats.