“Mr William Forth Burge,” said Miss Burge correctively.
“To Mr William Forth Burge for his kindness, and of course I shall be most happy.”
Hazel’s eyes had filled with tears at the quiet unassuming kindness of these people, and she looked her gratitude at their visitor.
“My brother’s in such spirits, my dear, and he’s next door; and he said at breakfast that he was proud to say he came to Plumton Schools himself when he was a boy, and nobody should say he was too proud to march round the town with them to-day.”
“And—and is he going to walk in the procession. Miss Burge?” asked Mrs Thorne.
“That he is, ma’am,” said the little lady. “So I said to him at breakfast, ‘well, Bill,’ I said—you see I always call him ‘Bill,’ Mrs Thorne, though he has grown to be such a rich and great man. It seems more natural so—‘well, Bill,’ I said, ‘if with all your money and position you’re not too proud to walk with the boys, I won’t be too proud to walk with the girls.’”
“And—and are you going to walk with them, Miss Burge?” said Mrs Thorne, with trembling eagerness.
“That I am, ma’am,” cried Miss Burge, rustling her voluminous blue silk dress, “and I’ve come down to ask Miss Thorne if she would allow me to walk with her, and—Oh, my gracious! How it did make me jump!”
The cause of Miss Burge’s start was the preliminary boom boom, boom of Mrs Thorne’s horror, the big drum, for the band had been marched up silently to the front of the schools, and the next moment the place was echoing with the brazen strains.