Mrs. Winter glanced at the little girl, and put her finger on her lips. She placed the biscuits before Nelly, but Nelly lingered. "Are those not what you wished?" said the baker's wife, noticing the child's look of hesitation.
"Yes; but you have given me seven, and I have only paid for six," replied the little one, looking artlessly up in her face.
"Now, if that isn't like her father!" exclaimed Goldie, bursting into a loud laugh. "I could have known her for his child all the world over! Don't you know, little simpleton, that seven are better than six?"
"I thought that Mrs. Winter had made a mistake," replied the child, not liking the laugh, though she could not have told why.
"I think that it's you who made the mistake," said Goldie, laughing again. "Tell me, does not your father keep sugar plums as well as cabbages?"
"Yes," replied Nelly, "and very nice ones."
"Very nice; oh! I dare say that you know that pretty well. How many do you eat, my little maid?"
"Father gives me a brandy-ball every Sunday, or sometimes a piece of pink rock," said Nelly, smiling.
"Oh! That's what he gives, but what do you take?" asked the fruiterer, chucking her under the chin.
"I take what he gives. I don't know what you mean," said the little girl, looking bewildered.