“Is your mother at home?” Alice asked; and the child replied:
“She is not my mother, and she is out just now. Can I tell her anything from you?”
“Oh,” Alice said, a little impatiently, “that is just my luck. I wanted so much to see her about some plain sewing. Did you say anything to her about it, child?”
“My name is Gertie. Yes, ma’am, I told her, and I think she’d like to do it. She’s only gone to the village after some molasses. I am expecting her every minute. Will you wait till she comes?”
Alice glanced at Emma, who nodded her assent, while Gertie brought them chairs, and then resuming her own, took up her book again and partly opened it.
“Pray don’t let us disturb you,” Alice said. “We can entertain ourselves. What story are you reading?”
“It isn’t a story,” Gertie replied. “It’s Fasquelle, and I’m getting my lesson.”
“Fasquelle!” Alice exclaimed, in much surprise. “Are you studying French?”
“Yes, ma’am; and I’ve most caught up with the class. Miss Armstrong says I am doing famously. I like it so much, only here is some English which I cannot quite put into French. These en’s and ne-gueres bother me. Perhaps you can help me?”
And with the utmost sang froid Gertie brought her grammar to Alice, and with her finger indicated the troublesome passage, which Alice rendered for her.