“No, indeed, I never hurt anything,” answered the girl. As she said this a pimple came out on her lips. “I never hurt anything,” she continued, in a high voice—“never. If a mosquito or a flea bite me, I let them bite. I say, ‘Poor things, they are hungry; I am their supper, I am their dinner.’”
“You are good!” said Kitty, very much impressed, but still with a rather doubtful tone.
“Yes, I am very good,” said the little girl, with a sigh, and as she said this another pimple came out, this time on her nose.
Kitty could not speak, she was so surprised at finding this good little girl here. They walked on through the wood, and here presently they heard singing. It was a bright tune, and Kitty distinguished the words:
“What a lovely, lovely face
Peeping slyly up at me,
Mocking when I make grimace.
Can it be? Can it be?
Yes, it is my own I see.”
They had come to a place where there was a pool set round with blossoms and reeds, like a mirror in a charming frame. All around it a number of little girls were kneeling, bending over, smiling, bowing to themselves, making the most extraordinary grimaces as they decked themselves with flowers, and talked and sang to their own reflections.