“Well, I will not answer at all; I leave it to your father.”
“Oh, I don’t mean that; I don’t want you to leave it to papa.”
“Flaxie,” remonstrated Julia, “can’t you see that you are tiring mother?”
“I won’t tire her, Ninny. I only want her to think a minute about Whiz, how old he is and lame. He doesn’t frisk as he used to, does he, mamma? And I’m sure Miss Pike will want me at her spelling-school, we’re such friends. And Fanny Townsend is going, and lots and lots of girls of my age.”
“My dear, I leave it entirely to your father,” said Mrs. Gray wearily.
“Yes, mamma; but if you’ll talk to him first, and say Fred’s afraid to ask him, and—and Whiz is so old——”
Julia frowned and pointed to the door. Mary ought to have needed no second warning. She might have seen for herself the conversation was too fatiguing.
“What does make me so selfish and heedless and forgetful and everything that’s bad,” thought she, rushing down-stairs. “I love my mother as well as Ninny does, and am generally careful not to tire her; but if I once forget they think I always forget, and next thing papa will forbid my going into her room.”
Fred stood by the bay window awaiting his cousin’s report.