Miss Collingwood was turning away, when her mistress stretched out her hand and drew her back.
"I shall look to you to help me with this wild Irish girl," she said with a smile. "Now, go to your lessons, my dear."
Dorothy ran away at once, and Mrs. Freeman walked down the garden in the direction where she had just seen a white dress disappearing.
She called Bridget's name, but the wind, which was rather high this morning, carried her voice away from the young girl, who was gayly flitting from one rosebush to another, ruthlessly pulling the large, full-blown flowers with buds attached.
"I don't think I ever felt my temper more irritated," murmured the good lady under her breath. "Why did I undertake an Irish girl, and one who had never been from home before? Well, the deed is done now, and I must not show impatience, however I may feel it. Bridget, my dear! Bridget O'Hara! Do you hear me?"
"Yes, what is it?"
Biddy turned, arrested in her gay flight from rosebush to rosebush.
As she cut the blossoms off, she flung them into her white skirt, which she had raised in front for the purpose. Now, as she ran to meet Mrs. Freeman, the skirt tumbled down, and the roses—red, white, and crimson—fell on the ground at her feet.
"Bridget, do look," said Mrs. Freeman; "you have trodden on that lovely bud!"
"Oh, I am sorry!"