I hope they were not glad--for you should forgive your enemies, even if they walk on your hands and then say it is all your naughty fault.

But I am afraid they were not so sorry as they ought to have been.
It took some time to arrange the things on the stall.

The carpet was spread over it, and the dark colours showed up the brass and silver and ivory things.

It was a happy and busy afternoon, and when Miss Peasmarsh and the girls had sold every single one of the little pretty things from the Indian bazaar, far, far away, Anthea and Jane went off with the boys to fish in the fishpond, and dive into the bran-pie, and hear the cardboard band, and the phonograph, and the chorus of singing birds that was done behind a screen with glass tubes and glasses of water.
They had a beautiful tea, suddenly presented to them by the nice curate, and Miss Peasmarsh joined them before they had had more than three cakes each.

It was a merry party, and the curate was extremely pleasant to every one, 'even to Miss Peasmarsh,' as Jane said afterwards.
'We ought to get back to the stall,' said Anthea, when no one could possibly eat any more, and the curate was talking in a low voice to Miss Peas marsh about 'after Easter'.
'There's nothing to go back for,' said Miss Peasmarsh gaily; 'thanks to you dear children we've sold everything.' 'There--there's the carpet,' said Cyril.
'Oh,' said Miss Peasmarsh, radiantly, 'don't bother about the carpet.
I've sold even that.