“Dear papa,” said Charlotte; and the sharpness had all gone out of her voice.
They were almost at home by now. There had not been much temptation to look about them in returning, for the clouds were getting the best of it, and the moon had taken offence and was hiding her face.
“My little girl,” whispered her father, as he lifted her down, “beware of the first peep through the green-coloured spectacles.”
“Papa!” said Charlotte, half reproachfully.
But I think she understood.
“Jerry,” she said, as her brother and she stood waiting at the door, their father having driven round to the stables, “just compare this door, this house, with Silverthorns.”
“What’s the good?” said Jerry.