No, it doesn't; I am a giddy, giggling
girl, with _no depth of character_, and not worthy of all this affection.
Why does everybody love _me_? They ought to be ashamed of themselves."
Hope told her she was a little angel, and everybody was right to love
her; indeed, they deserved to be hanged if they did not.
Mary fixed on the word angel. "If I was an angel," she said, "I shouldn't
be hungry, and I am, awfully. Oh, please come home; papa is so punctual.
Mr. Hope, are you going to tell papa? Because if you _are_, just you take
me and throw me in again. I'd rather be drowned than scolded." (This with
a defiant attitude and flashing eyes.)
"No, no," said Hope. "I will not tell him, to vex him, and get
you scolded."
"Then let us run home."
She took his hand, and he ran with her like a playmate, and oh! the
father's heart leaped and glowed at this sweet companionship after danger
and terror.
When they got near the house Mary Bartley began to walk and think. She
had a very thinking countenance at times, and Hope watched her, and
wondered what were her thoughts.
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