Part 10 (1/2)

”Yes, dear, Mr Burge begs that you will. Come, girls.”

This was called up the stairs to her little sisters, who came running down, dressed in white with blue sashes for the first time since their father's death.

”What does this mean?” exclaimed Mrs Thorne.

”They are coming with me, dear, each carrying a great bouquet.”

”Never! I forbid it!” cried the poor woman.

”It was Mr Burge's particular request,” said Hazel gently; ”and, mother dear, you will nearly break their hearts if you forbid them now.”

”There, there, there,” sobbed Mrs Thorne; ”it's time I died and was taken out of your way. I'm only a nuisance and a burden to you.”

”Mother!”

Only that one word, but the way in which it was uttered, and the graceful form that went down upon its knees before her to draw the head she kept rocking to and fro down upon her breast proved sufficient to calm the weak woman. Her sobs grew less frequent, and she at last began to wipe her eyes, after kissing Hazel again and again.

”I suppose we must accept our fate, my dear,” she said at last. ”I'm sure I do mine. And now mind this. Cissy--Mabel!”

”Yes, mamma! Oh, sister Hazel, isn't it time to go?”

”I say you will mind this. Cissy--Mabel, you are to--But must they walk in procession with those terrible children, Hazel?”

”Why not, dear? They will be with me, and what can be more innocent and pleasant than this treat to the poor girls? There, there, I know, for my sake, you will come up and lend your countenance to their sports.”

”Well, well,” sighed Mrs Thorne. ”I'll try. But mind me, Hazel,” she exclaimed sharply, ”I'm not coming up with that dreadful woman, Mrs Chute. I am coming by myself.”

”Yes, dear, I would,” said Hazel.

”And mind this. Cissy and Mabel, though you are going to walk behind the school children and carry flowers, you are not to forget that you are young ladies. Mind that.”

”No, mamma!” in duet.

”And--Oh dear me, Hazel, there is some one at the front door, and I've only got on my old cap. I really cannot be seen; I--Good gracious _me_, Hazel, don't let any one in.”

Too late. Hazel had already opened the door and admitted little Miss Burge, who came trotting in with her face all smiles.

”I thought I should never get through the children,” she panted; ”and ain't it 'ot? How well you do look, my dear! Lavender muslin suits you exactly. And how are you, my bonny little ones?” she cried, kissing the two girls. ”But there, I've no time to lose. The band will be here directly, and my brother is with the boys; and, Mrs Thorne, he sends his compliments to you.”

Mrs Thorne had drawn herself up very stiffly in her chair, and was preserving a dignified silence, feeling offended at their visitor's want of recognition; but Mr Burge's compliments taught her that this patron of the school acknowledged her status in society, and she smiled and bowed.

”And he said that he hoped you would excuse his not calling to invite you himself, but--now, bless my heart, what was the rest of it?”

She looked in a perplexed way at Hazel, and then at the ceiling, as if expecting to read it there.

”Oh, I know--but he had been so busy over the preparations, and he hoped you would come and look on; and the pony carriage will be here to fetch you at twelve.”

”I'm sure--really--I am greatly obliged to Mr Burge--”