“And so your father moved to town,” he said; and then he knew that he had made a terrible mistake.
“Now she won't speak a word—perhaps burst out crying,” he groaned within himself, as he saw her face. But Cathie sat quite still.
“My papa died,” she said softly, “and he told mamma before he went, to take me to town and have me educated. And one of those old aunts gave the money. And if it hadn't been for him, I'd have run home from the Salisbury School that first week, it was so perfectly awful.”
Clare sat quite still. Then he burst out, “Well, now, Cathie, I think it was just splendid in you to stick on.”
“Do you?” she cried, quite astonished to think any one would think she was “just splendid” in anything. “Why, the girls call me a goose over and over. And sometimes I lose my temper, because they don't say it in fun, but they really mean it.”
“Well, they needn't,” said Clare indignantly, “because I don't think you are a goose at all.”
“Those two are getting on quite well,” said Jasper to Polly. “I don't think we need to worry about Cathie any more.”
“And isn't she nice?” asked Polly, in great delight.
“Yes, I think she is, Polly,” said Jasper, in a way that gave Polly great satisfaction.
But when this delightful evening was all over, and the good nights had been said, and Mother Fisher, as was her wont, had come into Polly's room to help her take off her things, and to say a few words to Cathie too, Polly began to remember the scene in Mrs. Chatterton's room; and a sorry little feeling crept into her heart.