Jackie looked thoughtful. His birthday was approaching, and though he would not have hinted at such a thing, it did pass through his mind that Mary’s question might have something to do with that occasion. He studied the matter therefore with the attention it deserved, for he had to consider both his own inclinations and the limits of Mary’s purse. At last he said deliberately:
“The squirrel. What would you choose?”
“The piping bullfinch,” said Mary, without an instant’s hesitation.
“Why,” exclaimed Jackie, “that’s almost the most expensive thing in the shop!”
“I don’t see that that matters at all,” answered Mary. “You asked me what I liked best, and I like that best—much.”
More customers and acquaintances had now crowded in, and the little shop was quite full.
“I believe we’ve seen everything,” said Jackie; “let’s get up in the dog-cart and wait there for father. Oh,” he continued with a sigh, when they were seated again, “how jolly it must be to be Greenop! Wouldn’t you like to be him?”
“No,” said Mary decidedly, “I shouldn’t like it at all; I couldn’t bear it.”
“Why?” asked Jackie.
“Oh, because he’s quite a common man, and tucks up his shirt sleeves, and keeps a shop.”