She looked, but did not speak; the doctor was
the first to speak.
"It is about Bessie--from her grandfather's agent," said he with
suppressed vexation as he replaced the large full sheet in its envelope.
"What about _me_?" cried Bessie in an explosion of natural curiosity.
"Your mother will tell you presently. Mind, boys, you are good to-day,
and don't tire your sister."
So unusual an admonition made the boys stare, and everybody was hushed
with a presentiment of something going to happen that nobody would
approve. Mrs. Carnegie had her conjectures, not far wide of the truth,
and Bessie was conscious of impatience to get the children out of the
way, that she might have her curiosity appeased.
The doctor discerned the insurrection of self in her face, and said,
almost bitterly, "Wait till I am gone, Bessie; you will have all the
rest of your life to think of it. Now, boys, you have done eating; be
off, and get ready for school."
Jack and the rest cleared out of the parlor and pattered up stairs,
Bessie following close on their heels, purposely deaf to her mother's
voice: "You may stay, love." She was hurt and perturbed. An idea of what
was impending had flashed into her mind. After all, her abrupt exit was
convenient to her elders; they could discuss the circumstances more
freely in her absence. Mrs. Carnegie began.
"Well, Thomas, what does this wonderful letter say? I think I can
guess--Bessie is to go home?"
"Home! What place can be home to her if this is not?" rejoined the
doctor, and strode across the room to shut the door on his retreating
progeny, while his wife entered on the perusal of the letter.
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