“Is it a musical box with more than one tune?” asked Johnnie, a patch of red forming on one cheek.
“It is something ever so much more splendid,” cried Kitty; “but you are not to know till to-morrow. It is a secret. I’ll only just tell you”—and she nodded several times impressively—“that it sings and is alive.”
“Sings and is alive! Is it”—and now a red patch came on both Johnnie’s cheeks—“is it—no, it can’t be—is it—a bu—ull—finch?”
“Ye—es,” cried Kitty, jumping up and beginning to skip about, first on one bare foot and then on the other. “But you are to forget till to-morrow,” she went on, stopping her dance. “You must forget it, for it is a secret till Christmas Day.”
“Has it a tune?” whispered Johnnie, taking no notice of this order to forget.
“A lovely tune,” answered Kitty, her eyes sparkling. “‘Home, sweet home.’ He sings it with his tail up and his head on one side.”
As Johnnie laughed with joy, Kitty gave a sob of delight.
“I ran off to the shop by myself, the bird-fancier’s, you know; ever so far. Nurse scolded me dreadfully when I came back; she was so frightened, not finding me anywhere at home.”
“Oh, I did so long for a bullfinch, dear, good old Kitsy!” murmured Johnnie, looking very wide awake.
“I am not good. I am very naughty,” said Kitty slowly. “Oh, Johnnie, I am miserable when I have been naughty to you! It gives me a pain here,” and she thumped her chest.