[51]
]And they all went, not at first, but presently and by degrees.
“The thaid we could,” whispered Peter.
“Did she mean it?” Poppet said doubtfully.
“Of courth,” said Peter; “I’m going, at any rate. The thaid I wath to; I’m not going to dithobey her,” and he slipped out on tip-toe. Poppet worked to the end of the line by seven, then she remembered she had forgotten to “carry” all the way, and she grew afraid that Peter would get to the birds’ eggs she was putting in compartments for Bunty.
So she also, after a glance or two at her sister’s back hair, slipped off her chair and stole softly away.
And Nellie drew “Not Wisely” to her own end of the table with the aid of a long ruler; then she followed the example of her iniquitous juniors and departed noiselessly.
It was nearly an hour before Meg turned round again. She had lost herself in some wonderful poems now,—“The Flight of the Duchess,” “By the Fireside,” and some of the shorter love pieces; she began to see possibilities of beauty and enjoyment, and felt glad with a great gladness that she was able to appreciate them even in a slight degree.
Then the silence struck her. Surely if Poppet were doing her sum, her pencil would be squeaking; [52] ]and surely if Peter were engaged as he should be on his copy, he would be breathing laboriously and giving occasional little impatient grunts to testify to each fresh blot.
She looked round, and saw the deserted room.
“Took me at my word!” she said aloud. “They might have known I didn’t mean it, young scamps,—Nellie too.”