“Where is your swing? I am very fond of swinging.”
“Oh! it is in the orchard there, under that large tree. But you cannot—”
“I see; we cannot get to it now, because we should have to cross the grass.” And Margaret began to look round for any place where they might go beyond the gravel-walk on which they stood. She moved towards the greenhouse, but found it was never unlocked before breakfast. The summerhouse remained, and a most unexceptionable path led to it. The sisters turned that way.
“You cannot go there,” cried the children; “Miss Young always has the schoolroom before breakfast.”
“We are going to see Miss Young,” explained Hester, smiling at the amazed faces with which the children stared from the end of the path. They were suddenly seen to turn, and walk as fast as they could, without its being called running, towards the house. They were gone to their mother’s dressing-room door, to tell her that the Miss Ibbotsons were gone to see Miss Young before breakfast.
The path led for some little way under the hedge which separated Mr Grey’s from Mr Rowland’s garden. There were voices on the other side, and what was said was perfectly audible. Uneasy at hearing what was not meant for them, Hester and Margaret gave tokens of their presence. The conversation on the other side of the hedge proceeded; and in a very short time the sisters were persuaded that they had been mistaken in supposing that what was said was not meant for them.
“My own Matilda,” said a voice, which evidently came from under a lady’s bonnet which moved parallel with Hester’s and Margaret’s; “My own Matilda, I would not be so harsh as to prevent your playing where you please before breakfast. Run where you like, my love. I am sorry for little girls who are not allowed to do as they please in the cool of the morning. My children shall never suffer such restriction.”
“Mother,” cried a rough little person, “I’m going fishing with Uncle Philip to-day. Sydney Grey and I are going, I don’t know how far up the river.”
“On no account, my dear boy. You must not think of such a thing. I should not have a moment’s peace while you are away. You would not be back till evening, perhaps; and I should be fancying all day that you were in the river. It is out of the question, my own George.”
“But I must go, mother. Uncle Philip said I might; and Sydney Grey is going.”