'I think,' he said, 'that Esmé and nobody, shouldn't think about hats and ribbins and things like that in church—never. I think it'd be much better if ladies and girls dressed all like each other, like men and boys, when they go to church.'
'Oh, indeed,' said Esmé; 'and who was it that was in a terrible fuss about his tie not being knotted up the right way only last Sunday as ever was, and——'
'Esmé!' I exclaimed, horrified, 'where did you learn anything so vulgar—"last Sunday as ever was"? What would mamma say if she heard you?'
'It was Margery that said it,' replied Esmé, not the least put out; 'and I thought it sounded rather nice, but I won't say it again if you'd rather I didn't. Is it nonsense, Ida, about men and boys never thinking about their clothes? Geordie can't bear his best hat to be touched, and I've noticed gentlemen, big ones, I mean like papa—looking as cross as anything if they couldn't put their hats safe. I think they fuss more on Sundays in church than any other time.'
'Well, don't talk any more about it just now,' I said, 'or you will never get your geography into your head.'
But it was already too late. There was very little use trying to call back Esmé's wandering wits once they had started off on an expedition of their own, and I really began to fear I should have to tell mamma that I was very little, if any, use as the child's governess.
About this too, as things turned out, I need not have worried. It is curious how very seldom what we vex ourselves about before it happens does come to pass! I suppose this should show us the harm and uselessness of fancying troubles, or exaggerating them.
We were very busy and happy that afternoon, I remember, when George came back from Kirke, in arranging the wonderful chair. We settled it near the porch, and to please us, as it was really a very fine, almost warm day, mamma said we might have tea there, and that she would sit in the chair with Esmé on the stool, and the little table hooked on for their cups and plates. I made tea on a little table in the porch, and Dods and Den handed it out. It was rather a squash, but we didn't mind. Mamma looked so comfortable under the awning, which we had drawn out, as we wanted to try everything; the only mistake was having the hot-water bottle in the footstool filled; poor mamma was obliged to ask to have it taken out, as she said she was afraid her feet were really nearly getting boiled, and of course it was not cold enough weather to require it.
After tea was over and the things taken away, mamma said she would stay where she was for a little and finish a letter to papa, in which she would tell him all about her movable 'boudoir,' as she called it. She really seemed to have taken a great fancy to it, which I was very pleased at, for of us all—though she never said or seemed to think so—it was certainly mamma who had had to give up the most of what she was accustomed to, when we came to live at the Hut.