Strange to say, I cannot finish the sentence, for I don't know what I was going to wonder! In spite of all my eagerness and excitement I knew nothing more, till—the usual summons, in Hoskins's voice—
'Miss Ida, my dear, it's the quarter-past. You were sleeping soundly—I could scarcely find it in my heart to awake you. But it's Sunday morning, and you know it doesn't do to be late—and a beautiful spring morning too as ever was seen.'
I could scarcely believe my ears.
'Oh, Hoskins!' I exclaimed, 'I am sleepy. I was awake a good bit quite early, and I had no idea I had gone off again. I was so awake, thinking.'
The talking thoroughly roused me, and almost at once all the 'thinking' came back to me, so that by the time I was dressed, even though Sunday morning dressing needed a little more care and attention than every day's, I had got it all clear and compact and ready, as it were, for Geordie's cool inspection.
To my great satisfaction he had had a good fit that morning of getting up promptly and being down the first after me, instead of, as often happened, the last after everybody.
'Geordie,' I exclaimed, when I caught sight of him standing at the dining-room window, staring out—or perhaps I should say' gazing,' for staring is an ugly word, and the garden that morning was looking so particularly pretty—'Geordie, I am just bursting to talk to you. Is it any use beginning before papa and mamma come down, do you think?'
Geordie looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.
'Yes,' he said; 'we have five minutes, or ten perhaps. Is it anything particular?'
'Of course it is,' I replied, 'or I wouldn't say I was bursting to tell it you. And I think and hope it is something that will please you very much. You are to listen well and not interrupt me and say "nonsense," before you have taken it into your mind and thought it over.'