“Oh, don’t you?” said Miss Fleet. “Do you suppose I am going to put up with such a very disobedient little girl?” Her voice was stern. She did not often scold Phyllis, for Phyllis, as a rule, was too good to be reprimanded. She followed her now to her pleasant bedroom. There Nurse was waiting to pet the little girl and make her presentable for dinner.
Miss Fleet looked into the room and said, “Here she is, Nurse, and I am extremely angry with her;” and then the governess closed the door and walked away.
Phyllis gazed at Nurse, her eyes brimful of laughter. Then she ran up to the old woman and said ecstatically—
“Oh! I am so happy, and I don’t care a bit—not a bit—for what old cross-patch says.”
“My dear Miss Phyllis,” said Nurse, “you ought not to speak like that of your governess.”
“Well,” cried Phyllis, “she is cross-patch.”
“I never heard you say that sort of thing before.”
“I learnt it from the Rectory children. Oh, they are so nice—so very nice! I was with them all the afternoon. I am going again to-morrow, and the day after, and the day after that, and every day—every single day. Now, please, Nurse, help me to get tidy for dinner.”
Nurse, who in her heart of hearts felt that Phyllis could do no wrong, assisted with right good-will to remove the mud-bespattered habit, and to get the little girl into her evening-frock. The Squire was immensely fond and proud of his little daughter, and she always dined in the evening with Miss Fleet and her father. Miss Fleet came downstairs first to the drawing-room.
“Where is Phyllis?” said the Squire.