But at last, after looking at me several times and even giving me two or three little kicks, Geordie plunged in, as was his way—
'Ida has something to say to you,' he began. 'It's only fair for her to say it, for it's all her own idea, though we have talked about it a good deal.'
Papa looked at me very kindly.
'What is it, my little girl?' he said. 'I am sure you know how pleased I—and your mother—will be to do anything we can to—to brighten all these troubles.'
He seemed to know by instinct that what I had to say must have to do with what he had told us the day before. Yes—only the day before! I could scarcely believe it—it seemed years ago.
I felt my face growing red; mamma was looking at me too, and though her eyes were very kind, I grew more and more nervous, and of course I blurted it out quite differently from what I had meant to.
'It isn't only for us ourselves,' I began, 'though we should like it ever so much—awfully much better than anything else. But I feel as if it would be nicer for everybody—for mamma too, and for papa, when you are far away, you know,' and here I turned specially to him, 'not to have to think of us in a strange place and among strange people. And—and—there are lots of little bits of it that seem to fit in so well.'
'But, my dear child, I must interrupt you,' said papa smiling, 'before you go on to the "bits," do tell us what the whole is?'
I had really forgotten that I had not done so—my own mind was so full of it, you see.
'Oh,' I said, feeling very much ashamed of myself, especially as I knew Geordie's blue eyes were fixed on me reproachfully. 'I'm very sorry for being so stupid. It's just this, papa—we've been thinking, at least I thought of it first, and Dods has joined in the planning, that—why shouldn't we all, mamma and us four, come to live here, really to live here altogether, while you are away?'