She is not to be made into
buckram."
"Please, Robert," as some one met and looked at them, "let me walk on
by myself."
"What? Shall I be the means of getting you into trouble?"
"No, but I ought not-—"
"The road is clear now, never mind. In town there are no gossips,
that's one comfort. Mother Carey is propounding the plan now."
"Oh, but we shall not go. Mamma told me so last night."
"That was before Mother Carey had talked her over."
"Do you think she will?"
"I am certain of it! You are a sort of child of Mother Carey's own,
you know, and we can't do without you."
"Mother would miss us so, just as we are getting useful."
"Yes, but Ellie might stay."
"Oh! we have never been parted. We _couldn't_ be."
"Indeed! Is there no one that could make up to you for Ellie?"
"No, indeed!" indignantly.
"Ah, Essie, you are too much of a child yet to understand the force
of the love that—-"
"Don't," broke in Esther, "that is just like people in novels; and
mamma would not like it."
"But if I feel ten times far more for you than 'the people in novels'
attempt to express?"
"Don't," again cried Esther. "It is Sunday."
"And what of that, my most scriptural little queen ?"
"It isn't a time to talk out of novels," said Esther, quickening her
pace, to reach the frequented road and throng of church-goers.
Pages:
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536