“But that is the very way; the very only way you ought to strive to feel,” cried the frog, wringing its hands in an agony of earnestness; “always as if you had your best frock on.”
“It would be very dull,” said Kitty in a tone of conviction; “very dull! just as if one were always sitting or standing for one’s photograph.”
“But that is just the way one ought always to sit or stand, as if one were having one’s photograph taken. The very, very, very only way.” The force of its conviction affected the frog so profoundly that tears filled its goggle eyes; still it continued to smile.
Kitty was wondering how it could weep and smile, when it put its feet in the third position of dancing and made her a low bow.
“You have summed it all up in two sentences: to feel always as if you were wearing your best frock and having your photograph taken. That is what we ought all to strive to feel. You understand me. Tit for tat, I understand you. Let us dance.”
Kitty felt her finger tips taken by those of the frog. She did not like to withdraw them, and the next moment she found herself dancing a stately minuet. Step, twirl, bow, and courtesy. The brook played the accompaniment, the branches above swayed to the measure of the dance; Kitty and her partner danced on. The naughty sprite twisted and frolicked with them. Step, twirl, bow, and courtesy. In all her life Kitty had never made so many courtesies.
The frog’s contortions grew more and more extraordinary, and still the brook babbled, and still the branches swayed in tuneful accompaniment to the stately dance.
Was it her guardian child who whispered in Kitty’s ear, “Christmas Day! Christmas Day!”
“Dance! dance!” said the sprite, skipping with glee. But Kitty stopped in the middle of a courtesy, the sense of hurry overtook her. “I beg your pardon,” she said; “I must stop dancing now.”
