’I don’t know—­I dare say I shall like it when I have thought a little more about it.  Just now I am so startled by the suddenness of the affair, I have not considered whether I shall like it or not.  I shan’t like going away from you, I know.  Why am I to go, papa?’

’There are three old ladies sitting somewhere, and thinking about you just at this very minute; one has a distaff in her hands, and is spinning a thread; she has come to a knot in it, and is puzzled what to do with it.  Her sister has a great pair of scissors in her hands, and wants—­as she always does, when any difficulty arises in the smoothness of the thread—­to cut it off short; but the third, who has the most head of the three, plans how to undo the knot; and she it is who has decided that you are to go to Hamley.  The others are quite convinced by her arguments; so, as the Fates have decreed that this visit is to be paid, there is nothing left for you and me but to submit.’

’That is all nonsense, papa, and you are only making me more curious to find out this hidden reason.’

Mr. Gibson changed his tone, and spoke gravely now.  ’There is a reason, Molly, and one which I do not wish to give.  When I tell you this much, I expect you to be an honourable girl, and to try and not even conjecture what the reason may be,—­much less endeavour to put little discoveries together till very likely you may find out what I want to conceal.’

’Papa, I won’t even think about your reason again.  But then I shall have to plague you with another question.  I have had no new gowns this year, and I have outgrown all my last summer frocks.  I have only three that I can wear at all.  Betty was saying only yesterday that I ought to have some more.’

’That will do that you have got on, won’t it?  It is a very pretty colour.’

‘Yes; but, papa,’ (holding it out as if she was, going to dance) ’it’s made of woollen, and so hot and heavy; and every day it will be getting warmer.’

‘I wish girls could dress like boys,’ said Mr. Gibson, with a little impatience.  ’How is a man to know when his daughter wants clothes? and how is he to rig her out when he finds it out, just when she needs them most and has not got them?’

‘Ah, that’s the question!’ said Molly, in some despair.

’Can’t you go to Miss Rose’s?  Does not she keep ready-made frocks for girls of your age?’

‘Miss Rose!  I never had anything from her in my life,’ replied Molly, in some surprise; for Miss Rose was the great dressmaker and milliner of the little town, and hitherto Betty had made the girl’s frocks.