"What's a trump?"
She was perched on the top of the stone post at the entrance to the driveway, and watching intently for a glimpse of little Sprite.
She had been curious about the new little girl ever since the first day that she arrived at Avondale. Now, she was determined to know her.
"If she'd go by while I'm sitting here I'd make her come into my garden. I'd like to have her all to myself the first time I talk to her," she said softly.
Of course Gwen wished to meet Sprite when she was quite alone. Anyone who had ever known Gwen would know why.
She knew that all of her playmates were aware that she told very large stories, and that none of them were true.
If she had Sprite, quite by herself, she could tell what she chose. Luck favored her, for she had sat on the great post but a moment longer, when a soft voice singing made her look up.
Sprite, her hands filled with flowers, was coming toward her.
She was looking down at her blossoms, and did not notice the child on the post.
"Bright, glist'ning summer sea,
Bring thou a ship to me,
Sailing so gallantly over the main.
Down deep within its hold
Will there be bags of gold,
Or sparkling gems untold,
All, all for me?
Now my heart cries to thee;
Bring not from o'er the sea
Bright glitt'ring gems for me, nor bags of gold.
I'd rather have a heart,
Mine from all else apart,
From him I'd never part,
Love's more than gold."