“Flags and banners, Hazel?” exclaimed Mrs Thorne, with a horrified look.
“Yes, dear. Mr Burge wants to give the children a great treat, and there is to be a brass band that he has engaged on purpose. I have just had a note from Miss Burge. She says her brother wished to keep it a secret to the last.”
“But not a regular brass band, Hazel?”
“Yes, dear. It will be at the head of the procession, and the children are to be marched all round the town.”
“But not a brass band with a big drum, my dear? Surely not. Don’t say with a big drum?”
“Really, mother, dear, I don’t know,” replied Hazel, bending down and kissing her. “I suppose so.”
“Thank Heaven, that my poor husband was spared all this!”
“Oh, hush, dear,” whispered Hazel piteously.
“But you will not stoop to walk round the town with them, Hazel? And surely you are never going to put that ridiculous bunch of cowslips in your dress?”
“Mother, dear,” said Hazel quietly, “I am the mistress of the girls’ school, and it is my duty to walk with them. I am going to wear the bunch of spring flowers, for they were brought for me by the girls, who will all wear a bunch like it. Here is a bouquet, though, that Mr Burge has sent for the mistress out of his greenhouse. I suppose I must carry that in my hand.”