"It's the look of the thing that I care for," said Matty, who had evidently become a very apt pupil of Folly. "And now I'll tell you where I'm going, Nelly. I have long thought, you know, that a pretty tambourine would look wonderfully well in my parlour; and I think, if I could buy one cheap, that a French picture would give it a fashionable air. I am going on a purchasing expedition, dear Miss Folly being my guide."
"Oh, Matty!" exclaimed Nelly, "you know that you have not yet bought half the things that you require from Mr. Arithmetic the ironmonger!"
"I wish Mr. Arithmetic at Jericho!" cried Matty peevishly; "his goods are so heavy—so uninteresting; they make no show; I won't plague myself with such things!"
"Matty, Matty, my beauty!" called the shrill voice of Folly from without.
"I'm coming in a moment," cried Matty, as she hastened to join her companion.
Sadly, but with quiet resolution, Nelly took up her hammer again. Not many minutes had passed before she received a visit from Dick.
"How long are you going to keep on knocking in those dates?" exclaimed the boy; "I put in all mine long ago. You see," he added with a merry laugh, as he held up his hands, "I've nails at my fingers' ends!"
Nelly, who did not quite understand the joke, and was too honest to pretend that she did so, bent down again over her work.
"I can't think how you are so slow!" cried Dick. "I've heard you hammer, hammer, hammering for such a time, that I expected when I came in to find your carpet studded all over with dates, and you have not put in more than six!"
"I am sorry that I am so slow and stupid," said Nelly, with a sigh; "it is not my fault but my misfortune."