"There, thank Heaven, I haven't killed her!" exclaimed Bridget.There was little use, therefore, in rushing out of her prison to join her companions in their playground or on the shore.
"You know perfectly well what I mean," she answered; "you know who the enemy is—at least you know who is your enemy."
After two or three applications the injured girl stirred faintly, a shade of color came into her cheeks, and she opened her eyes.Evelyn Percival was one of the few girls in the school who was privileged to have a room to herself. Her little room was prettily draped in white and pink. It was called the Pink Room, and adjoined the Blue Room, which was occupied by Bridget O'Hara.
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In all her life Bridget had never been cut before.
"I adore music; I play by ear all the old Irish jigs and the melodies. Oh, doesn't father cry when I play 'The Harp that once through Tara's Halls,' and 'She is far from the Land,' and 'The Minstrel Boy.' And oh, Mrs. Freeman, even you, though you are a bit old and stiff, could not help dancing if I strummed 'Garry Owen' for you."The door was closed then, and Bridget O'Hara found herself alone.Bridget's arms were flung impulsively round her governess's neck, and then one hand was tucked within the good lady's arm.
No, there was nothing to be alarmed about. Evelyn was too silly, with her nerves and her fads. Janet stood by the bend of the hill. Her thoughts were so busy that she scarcely troubled herself to listen for the approaching carriage.