"The governor tells us every day that we shall come to the—union," says Milly. "I wonder if it is very bad?"
"They separate the sexes," I say, looking fondly at Jack, who is whistling away at a pencil in utter ignorance of my affectionate glance, "and I should never like that."
"What's the matter with Amberley?" he asks, looking up. "Has she got spasms?"
"Bilious," I say, nodding. "She calls it sick headache, but I know better. She won't be able to get up till to-morrow, therefore can't harass our already too highly cultivated brains with Paley and Pinnock. I wonder why Sunday is called a day of rest? It is not to us."
"I wish the holidays would come," says Milly, sighing. "Why should we have them in July instead of June? It can't make any difference."
"Amberley is not going away for her holidays," says Alice; "her brother, who is sixty, has got the measles. Did I tell you about her boots yesterday?"
"No; what was it?"
"You know we walked into Silverbridge? Well, she went into Summers's to buy a pair of boots, and she managed to squeeze her feet into a pair much too small for her, then said to the old man, who was standing by with his mouth screwed up on one side, 'I think these will do, though they may hurt me a little at first.' 'Lor, miss,' said old Summers, 'that don't siggerfy, that ain't of no account, but I knows they'll bust!'"
"And after that delicate warning did she take them?" asks Jack.
"She did!"
"Let us hope then," says Milly, "that she will not wear them in one of our breathless scampers behind the governor, or she will come back without them!"
