“Angry!” said Mr. Gardew. “I’ll never be angry with you, Merry, when you tell me all the thoughts of your heart.”
“And you won’t—you won’t,” said Merry in an anxious tone—“vex darling mother by talking to her about this?”
“I make no promises whatsoever You have trusted me; you must continue to trust me.”
“I do; indeed I do! You are not angry with dear, nice Miss Howland, are you, father?”
“Angry with her! Why should I be? Most certainly not. Now, come in to lunch, love.”
At that meal Mr. Cardew did his very utmost to be pleasant to Merry; and as there could be no man more charming when he pleased, soon the little girl was completely under his influence, and forgot that fascinating picture of school-life which Maggie had so delicately painted for her edification.
Soon after lunch Mrs. Cardew and Cicely returned; and Merry, the moment she was with her sister, felt her sudden fit of the blues departing, and ran out gaily with Cicely into the garden. They were seated comfortably in a little arbor, when Isabel’s voice was heard calling them. She was hot and panting. She had come up to tell them of the proposed arrangements for the afternoon, and to beg of them both to come immediately to the rectory.
“How more than delightful!” said Merry.—“Cicely, you stay still, for you’re a little tired. I’ll run up to the house at once and ask father and mother if we may go.”
“Yes, please do,” said Isabel; “and I’ll rest here for a little, for really the walk up to your house is somewhat fatiguing.” She mopped her hot forehead as she spoke. “You might as well come back with me, both of you girls,” she added. But she only spoke to Cicely, for Merry had already vanished.
“Father! mother!” said the young girl, bursting abruptly into their presence. “Belle Tristram has just come up to ask us to spend the afternoon at the rectory. Tea in the hay-field, and all kinds of fun! May we go?”