“I can’t half tell you what she is or what she’s like.”
“Well, shall we go up to our sitting-room and talk?” said Alison. “There’s so much we have to say, these summer holidays are so long; for my part I am very glad to be at school again. Heigho! it’s my last year, my very last; to think of it, girls—to think of it!”
“Well, don’t think of it to-night, Ally darling,” said another girl belonging to the school, running up to Alison and kissing her.
Suddenly Bridget O’Donnell came up and spoke to Jessie. “Is that new girl Irish?” she asked.
“Need you ask?” was Jessie’s reply.
“I thought she must be. I am ever so glad.”
“Are you?” said Jessie. “That’s because you don’t know her.”
“And you don’t know me,” retorted Bridget, “or you wouldn’t suppose, even for a single moment, that I could be anything but glad to see a fellow countrywoman in the same school.”
“A fellow countrywoman!” echoed Jessie, “fellow country baby, if you like! Why, she’s a regular little brat, that’s all I can say. If I’m glad of one thing more than another it is that she’ll be at the mercy of The Imp.”
“Oh hush!” said Bridget, “it isn’t kind of you, Jessie.”