Aye, that was a dinner in Eden—a dinner very unlike ours, which is probably cold by this time. Come, come, ’tis very late.”
The girls, who had started and closed the book hastily at the sound of his voice, ran to take their places at the table.
Mary remarked that her papa had not been out, if she might guess by his gown and slippers being still on, as at breakfast. Anna supposed that it was because he wore his slippers that he had startled them, though they had been watching for him just before.
“Mary,” said Mr. Byerley, “what made you shut your book in such a hurry when I put my head in between you?”
“I hardly know,” said Mary; “but I believe I was not quite sure whether you wished us to read Paradise Lost yet.”
“You might have known in a moment by asking.”
“Yes; but Mr. Wilkins was with you, and I knew you were busy; and the book was lying open, and we did not mean to read on, only we could not help it.”
“It has done you no harm, I dare say, my dears; and if it had, it would have been my fault for leaving such a book in your way. Would you like to see more of it?”
“I like the little I read, papa; but I do not know how I should like the whole.”
“The whole! I should be sorry to be obliged to read all that,” said Anna. “I like the Arguments best. Why are they called the Arguments, papa?”