"It might have been as well," remarked her grandfather; "but you cannot very well change the plan now you have begun, especially as we go away so soon. But don't waste any more time, for I want you to go over to Albany with me at half-past twelve to meet Aunt Julia, and it is after nine now."
"I might miss the lesson for one morning," said Amity.
"No, no, don't do that: the poor little fellow will feel very much disappointed. And besides, a promise is a promise; remember that, little girl."
"I wish grandfather would not always call me a little girl, and before people too," said Amity to herself as she went along the hall and up the long stairs: "I am not such a baby as all that. And I don't see why he should care so much more for Johnny's comfort than mine. I do think, as Mrs. Wickford says, it is taking a great deal out of me to expect me to spend an hour every day with that poor little idiot."
Johnny was looking out for Amity, and his first eager words were, "Have you got the cotton, Amity?"
Amity was vexed at her own forgetfulness, and seized the first excuse that came to her mind. Now excuses are very dangerous things to handle for people who wish to speak the exact truth.
"I haven't got the cotton, Johnny, because I am going over to Albany to-day, and can get it so much better there."
Johnny's pale face flushed and his eyes filled with tears. Like other people of deficient mind, he was apt to set his heart very strongly on whatever was promised him. People who have the care of such persons cannot be too careful not to disappoint them.
"But you said you would get it—you said you would!" he repeated piteously. "And now you haven't brought it at all!"
"Hush, Johnny; don't cry, my dear," said Mrs. Franklin: "you will make your head ache. Amity will get your cotton in Albany, and that will be a great deal nicer."