Poor Lucy in every respect was her mother's opposite. Neither did she specially take after her gentle, patient father, who was always satisfied to make the best of things, his motto being peace on any terms, and who was surprised now when Lucy ran up to him as he was pacing up and down in the walnut walk at some distance from the house.
"Ah, my little girl!" he said when he saw her approaching. "Why, what is the matter? How flushed your cheeks are!"
"And no wonder, father," answered Lucy. "If you could flush up at anything you'd feel hot and indignant now. Oh, father dear, I wish—I wish we weren't obliged to have those detestable girls!"
"What, Lucy! Have they come?"
"I should think they have. They'll waylay you in a minute or two."
"Oh, no, my dear. I don't specially want to see them now."
"Then let us go straight by this gate into the paddock. I don't suppose they will find the paddock before to-morrow. Father, I don't think mother is at all suited to keep a school."
"Lucy, I will not have your dear mother abused. Talk on any other subject, but I can't stand that."
"I suppose it is very wrong of me."
"It is more than wrong. You can scarcely realize what a good, brave, and noble woman she is. Who but she would have acted as she has done lately? She has taken the bull by the horns and saved us from absolute ruin. By her plucky ways and determination has she not just kept our heads above water? My dear Lucy, you little know what might have happened but for your mother's pluck and bravery."