“You discontented, my dear child! I did feel that I had two little girls unacquainted with the meaning of the word.”
“Well, I’ll just tell you, and get it over, dad. I’ll be perfectly all right once I have told you.”
“Then talk away my child; you know I have your very best interests at heart.”
“Indeed I know that, my darling father. The fact is this,” said Merry; “I”––She stopped; she glanced at her father. He was a most determined and yet a most absolutely kind man. Merry adored him; nevertheless, she was a tiny little bit in awe of him.
“What is the matter?” he said, looking round at her. “Has your companion, that nice little Miss Howland, been putting silly thoughts into your head? If so, she mustn’t come here again.”
“Oh father, don’t say that! You’ll make me quite miserable. And indeed she has not been putting silly thoughts into my head.”
“Well, then, what are you so melancholy about?”
“The fact is—there, I will have it out,” said Merry—“I’d give anything in the world to go to school.”
“What?” said Mr. Cardew.
“Yes,” said Merry, gaining courage as she spoke; “Molly and Isabel are going, and Aneta Lysle is there, and Maggie Howland is there, and I’d like to go, too, and I’m sure Cicely would; and, oh, father! I know it can’t be; but you asked me what was the matter. Well, that’s the matter. I do want most awfully to go to school!”