“No, not that thing,” dissented Mina. “Sing ‘Pray, Goody,’ Janet.” They had long since called her by her Christian name.
The whole five (the other three taking sides), not being able to agree, plunged at once into a hot dispute. Janet in vain tried to make peace by saying she would sing both songs, one after the other: they did not listen to her. In the midst of the noise, Sally looked in to say James had caught a magpie; and the lot scampered off.
Janet Carey heaved a sad sigh, and passed her hand over her weary brow. She had had a tiring day: there were times when she thought her duties would get beyond her. Rising to follow the rebellious flock, she caught sight of Dr. Knox, seated back in the wide old cane chair.
“Oh! I—I beg your pardon. I had no idea any one was here.”
He came forward smiling; Janet had sat down again in her surprise.
“And though I am here? Why should you beg my pardon, Miss Carey?”
“For singing before you. I did not know—I am very sorry.”
“Perhaps you fancy I don’t like singing?”
“Mine is such poor singing, sir. And the songs are so old. I can’t play: I often only play to them with one hand.”
“The singing is so poor—and the songs are so old, that I was going to ask of you—to beg of you—to sing one of them again for me.”