“But it is so childish to keep running up the banks and shouting like that.”
“Well, but that’s what I like. It’s the country air makes one feel so young, and I am so, so glad that we are going to stay at home. I want to know the people. Oh, I was tired of the Continent. I want to be free.”
“Now, Cynthy, what would papa say if he saw you climb up on that gate?”
“Don’t know—don’t care!”
“Well, then,” said Julia Mallow, smiling, “what, would Lord Artingale say?”
“That I was a jolly little girl, and come and sit beside me.”
“Oh! Cynthy!”
“And put his arm round my waist to keep me from falling off. Oh, I say, Ju, he did once, and it was so funny.”
“Cynthy, I’m ashamed of you,” cried her sister, and there was a slight deepening of the colour in her sweet English face.
“Well, I am ashamed of myself,” cried Cynthia, springing lightly off the gate, and passing her arm round her sister as they walked on along the rutty lane. “But I do feel so happy, Ju. So will you some day, when you meet the special him. Not Perry-Morton though. Ha, ha, ha! How stupid papa is! I say, Ju, though, who shall we go and see? Papa says we are to visit the people a great deal, and get them to know more of us, but I shan’t go near any of the horrid Dissenters.”