“My father, he will not care if I learn or not. I hardly ever see my father; he does not like me. I see nobody but Pigott and you and old Jakes, and Sam sometimes. You need not ask my father; he will never miss me whilst I am learning. Ask Pigott.”
At that moment Pigott herself hove into view, in a great flurry.
“Oh, here you are, Miss Angela! Where have you been to, you naughty girl? At some of your star-gazing tricks again, I’ll be bound, frightening the life out of a body. It’s just too bad of you, Miss Angela.”
The little girl looked at her with a peculiarly winning smile, and took her very solid hand between her own tiny palms.
“Don’t be cross, Pigott, dear,” she said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I couldn’t help going—I couldn’t indeed; and then I stopped talking to Mr. Fraser.”
“There, there, I should just like to know who can be cross with you when you put on those ways. Are your feet wet? Ah! I thought so. Run on in and take them off.”
“Won’t that be just a little difficult?” and she was gone with a merry laugh.
“There, sir, that’s just like her, catching a body up like and twisting what she says, till you don’t know which is head and which is heels. I’ll be bound you found her down yonder;” and she nodded towards the churchyard.
“Yes.”
Pigott drew a little nearer, and spoke in a low voice.