The handkerchief was something Clo had coveted for a long time, and the gift quite restored her good-humor.
"Dat's as it orter be," said 'Dolf. "Peace and harmony once more prewails, and we's here like—like—de Happy Family as used ter be at Barnum's Museum," he added, finding a comparison at length, and quite unconscious of its singular appropriateness.
"I'se gwine to mend dis tablecloth," said Vic, "and I'll set here to do it—when I go upstairs I'll git yer the hankercher, Clo."
"Oh! laws," said Clo, "yer want it yerself—don't be a givin' away yer truck."
"I'd ruther yer had it," observed Vic, "blue's allers becoming to yer, ain't it, Mr. Dolf?"
She made another grimace, unseen by Clorinda, which nearly sent Dolf into fits, but he restrained his merriment, and answered with the gravity of a judge:
"Miss Clorindy overcomes whatever she puts on, but since yer wishes my honest 'pinion, I must say I tink blue's about de proper touch fur her."
Clo grew radiant with delight, but she worked away resolutely, only observing:
"Victy, dar's a leetle cranberry tart I jis' tuk out ob de oben—it's on de kitchen table—I 'spect we might as well eat it, cause 'taint big enough to go on de table."
"I'll fotch it," cried Dolf; "to sarve de fair is my priv'lege."