"This is 'Queechy'—a very good story. Did you ever read 'The Lamplighter?' I'll lend you that."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Cherrie. "It's getting late. I suppose I must go."
"Stay for tea," said Mrs. Marsh, who liked Cherrie; "it's all ready, and we are only waiting for Charley. I don't see where he's gone too; he wasn't home to dinner, either."
"I saw him this afternoon," said Cherrie; "him and young McGregor and Captain Cavendish were going up Queen Street."
"Was he? Perhaps they had dinner together there. How did you know Captain Cavendish, Cherrie?"
"I saw him at Redmon. He was up all yesterday forenoon. I guess he is after Miss Natty."
Mrs. Marsh smiled and settled her cap.
"Oh, I don't know. Take off your things, Cherrie, and stay for tea. It's of no use waiting for Charley. Betsy Ann, bring us the teapot, and call Miss Rose."
Cherrie laid aside her turban and lace, and was duly made acquainted with Miss Rose. Cherrie had heard the new teacher was pretty, but she had hoped she was not so very pretty as this, and a pang of jealousy went through her vain little heart. She had stayed for tea, hoping Charley would partake of that repast with them, and afterward escort her home; but it commenced and was over, but that young gentleman did not appear.
Miss Rose played after tea, and Cherrie lingered and lingered, under pretense of being charmed; but it got dark, and still that provoking Charley did not come. Cherrie could wait no longer, and a little cross and a good deal disappointed, she arose to go.