Violet continued to gaze at her; then, taking up a scrap of paper, she scribbled on it:
"I don't believe that Janet helps Biddy with her lessons."
This scrap of paper was thrust into Alice's hand, who, in a moment, tossed a reply into Violet's lap:
"Yes, she does. You ask Honora Stedman or Jessie Sparkes."
Violet tore the paper into a thousand bits. Tears, she could scarcely tell why, dimmed her pretty eyes. She sank back in her seat, and resumed her lessons.
"Maintenant, mes enfants, l'heure de préparation est passée," said the French governess, rising, and speaking with her usual, quick little scream. "Mettez vos livres de côté; allons-nous à la fête donnée par la gracieuse Mlle. Bridget O'Hara."
The children jumped up with alacrity. Chairs scraped against the floor; desks were opened and books deposited therein more quickly than quietly, and then the whole eager group went out.
There was a large tent erected on the front lawn; gay flags were posted here and there round it, and a rustic porch had been hastily contrived at the entrance. This was crowned with many smaller flags, and was further rendered gay with bunches of wild flowers and ferns which had been fastened to it, under Bridget's supervision, early in the day.
The brilliant effect of the many colored flags and banners, the peep within the tent of tempting tables and many charming presents, excited the wild spirits of the little ones to an almost alarming degree.