Dr. Carlyon burst into hearty laughter.
“Quite true,” he said, “quite true. I am glad Hocking has so much common sense, and I foresee that some day we shall have you sitting on School Boards, and such-like.”
Priscilla supposed a School Board was some sort of hard seat or form, but she did not like to ask, though she wondered very much why her father should laugh so about it.
“I think, though, Prissy, you had better not talk as Hocking does. It is not quite the way that little girls should speak.”
Priscilla sighed.
“I wish I was a boy,” she said earnestly. “I don’t want to sit on School Boards and things, but I want to talk like Hocking, and to be a miller’s man, and drive a waggon with four horses, and shout ‘Gee wug.’ Or else I’d like to be a Coachman or a bus-driver. I would rather be a miller’s man, though, ’cause I like the little short whip the best; it is so much easier to crack.”
“I am sorry,” said her father, smiling at her. “I suppose that driving poor old Betsy only, and with a long-handled whip, which is never required, is very poor fun to you, you ambitious young person!”
“Oh no; I love Betsy, and I love driving her, but, of course, I can’t drive Betsy always; I am going to earn my own living when I grow up.”
“Would you have bells on the horse’s harness if you were a miller’s man?” asked Loveday.
“Oh yes—a whole lot of dear little brass ones, and I’d keep them always shining like new.”