“It would be absolute sneaking (to use an elegant word), I suppose,” said Beatrice, “to go down the back stairs.”

“True,” said Henrietta, “we will even take the bull by the horns.”

“And trust to our heels,” said Beatrice, stealthily opening the door; “the coast is clear, and I know both your mamma and my papa will not stop us if they can help it.  One, two, three, and away!”

Off they flew, down the stairs, across the hall, and up the long green walk, before they ventured to stop for Henrietta to put on her gloves, and take up the boa that was dragging behind her like a huge serpent.  And after all, there was no need for their flight; they might have gone openly and with clear consciences, had they but properly and submissively waited the decision of their elders.  Mr. Geoffrey Langford, who did not know how ill his daughter had been behaving, would have been very sorry to interfere with the plan, and easily reconciled his mother to it, in his own cheerful pleasant way.  Indeed her opposition had been entirely caused by Beatrice herself; she had not once thought of objecting when it had been first mentioned the evening before, and had not Beatrice not first fidgeted and then argued, would only have regarded it as a pleasant way of occupying their morning.

“I could scold you, Miss Drone,” said Beatrice when the two girls had set themselves to rights, and recovered breath; “it was all the fault of your dawdling.”

“Well, perhaps it was,” said Henrietta, “but you know I could not see grandmamma lifting those flower-pots without offering to help her.”

“How many more times shall I have to tell you that grandmamma hates to be helped?”

“Then she was very kind to me,” replied Henrietta.

“I see how it will be,” said Beatrice, smiling, “you will be grandmamma’s pet, and it will be a just division.  I never yet could get her to let me help her in anything, she is so resolutely independent.”

Queen Bee did not take into account how often her service was either grudgingly offered, or else when she came with a good will, it was also with a way, it might be better, it might be worse, but in which she was determined to have the thing done, and against which her grandmamma was of course equally resolute.

“She is an amazing person!” said Henrietta.  “Is she eighty yet?”

“Seventy-nine,” said Beatrice; “and grandpapa eighty-two.  I always say I think we should get the prize in a show of grandfathers and grandmothers, if there was one like Uncle Roger’s fat cattle shows.  You know she thinks nothing of walking twice to church on a Sunday, and all over the village besides when there is anybody ill.  But here is the Sutton Leigh path.  Let me see if those boys are to be trusted.  Yes, yes, that’s right!  Capital!” cried she in high glee; “here is Birnam wood coming across the field.”  And springing on one of the bars of the gate near the top, she flourished her handkerchief, chanting or singing,