Betty and her little maid having hurried out of the room, Miss Unity’s tea-table became the object of interest. It was always very attractive to the children, because it was so different to school-room tea at Easney.
The dark deep colours of the old Derby china seemed to match the plum-cake in richness; there were Pennie’s hot-cakes in a covered dish, and Nancy’s favourite jam in a sparkling cut-glass tub. In its way, though very different, it was as good as having tea with old Nurse at the College. On this occasion it was unusually pleasant, because there was so much to ask and hear about Keturah.
“Aren’t you glad,” said Nancy, when the whole story had been fully explained, “that you’ve got Keturah instead of a new mandarin?”
“Nancy!” said Pennie, shocked at this bold question.
But Nancy was quite unabashed.
“You know, don’t you,” she said to Miss Unity, “that it was Pennie’s first plan to buy you a new one. The boys promised to help, but I didn’t. And then all sorts of things happened, and there was hardly any money in the box. And then we saw Kettles. And then I made Pennie give up the plan, and save for the boots and stockings. But we never thought then that she’d ever have anything to do with you.”
“It was very good of Pennie to wish to get me a new mandarin,” said Miss Unity, her eyes resting affectionately on her god-daughter.
“She wanted to ever so much,” continued Nancy. “She wouldn’t buy a book she wanted at the fair, on purpose to save her money. But after all, Kettles is much nicer to have, because you can do all sorts of things with her, and the mandarin could only nod his head.”
“If it had not been for Pennie,” said Miss Unity, “I should never have heard or known anything about Keturah. She has given me a new maid instead of a new mandarin.”
“But she’s partly from Nancy too,” said Pennie, “because you see she made me like Kettles and give up the other.”