After dinner Mr. Dolman told Miss Ramsay that he had given orders about the wagonette, and he supposed Simpson knew about the sleeping arrangements, as he was given to understand that she had received a letter from Mrs. Dolman.

“I have spoken to Simpson,” replied Miss Ramsay, dropping her eyes as she made the remark, “and she fully understands what is expected of her.  The two girls are to have small rooms to themselves, and so is the eldest boy, but the youngest will sleep in the nursery with Philip and Conrad.  Those are Mrs. Dolman’s directions.”

“Quite right, quite right,” said Mr. Dolman.  “Anything Mrs. Dolman wishes, of course.  Miss Ramsay, I shall not be home to tea this evening.  I have to go to visit a sick parishioner at the other end of the parish.  Good-by, Lucy; good-by, the rest of you children.  I hope to see you all before bedtime; if not—­”

“But, father,” burst from Ann, “the new children will be here about six.”

“They cannot arrive before half-past six, my dear,” replied Mr. Dolman.

“Ann, you have again spoken English,” said Miss Ramsay; “I shall be forced to punish you.  You will have to stay in after the others this afternoon, and learn ten lines of your French poetry.”

Poor little Ann colored and her lips trembled.  She really felt dreadfully excited, and it was terrible to have to bottle up all her thoughts during the long, hot day.

Immediately after dinner the children went up to the schoolroom, where they lay down on the floor for half an hour to learn their lessons.

At three o’clock the ordinary lessons began again, and went on without interruption until five, when there was tea.  After tea the children were supposed to have the rest of the day to do what they liked in.  But on this occasion, Ann was kept in the schoolroom to learn her French poetry as best she could.  The ten lines were difficult, and the little girl felt sleepy, cross, and dissatisfied.  Soon her small, curly head fell upon her plump arms, and sleep took possession of her little soul.

Miss Ramsay came in and found her in a state of heavy slumber.

“Ann!” she cried; “Ann!”

Little Ann raised herself with a start.

“Oh, please, Miss Ramsay, won’t you excuse the French poetry to-day,” she cried; “I am so—­”

“So what, Ann?  I am surprised at you.  What can be the matter?”

“I am so excited about the little Delaneys,” answered Ann.  “They are coming so soon, and they are my own first cousins—­I seem to see them all the day—­they come between me and—­and my poetry.  Please, Miss Ramsay, if you’ll only allow me I’ll get up early to-morrow morning and learn it perfectly.  Do say I need not finish it this afternoon—­do, please.”

Miss Ramsay was astonished and annoyed at this rebellion on the part of Ann.

“You surprise me,” she said.  “You know that lessons have to be done during lesson hours, and that rules are not to be broken.  You know what your mother would say if she heard you talking English at meals.  Twice to-day you broke through that rule.  The first time I pardoned you—­the second time it was unpardonable.  Now, my dear, apply yourself to your task—­get it well over, and you will doubtless be ready to welcome your cousins when they arrive.”