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“Oh, how tired I am, May, “exclaimed Cissy, curling herself up in a corner of the sofa. “I am not in love with the Berwicks. I like the son the best. Ring for tea, Marion. I must have a cup, or I shall faint.”

So they consoled themselves for the fatigues of the afternoon. Before-dinner tea was as yet hardly a domestic institution; but Cissy, be it observed, had a mind in advance of the age.

“How I hate old Indians!” she exclaimed. “Marion, if ever you catch me talking Indian ‘shop,’ I give you leave to cut my acquaintance.”

Friday came, but in clouds and rain. So the Berlet excursion was given up, and Marion’s becoming better acquainted with her pupils had to be deferred till Monday, when her new duties began.

The first morning’s lessons passed off better than the inexperienced governess had ventured to hope. Charlotte was marvellously docile and attentive, though evidently totally unaccustomed to anything like regular study. The secret of her good behaviour transpired in the course of the morning, when the children informed Miss Freer that if they were very obedient and industrious at lessons up to Thursday week—which happened to be Sibyl’s birthday—on that day the Berlet expedition was to take place, on a much grander scale than had been originally contemplate.