“You crawl through the gap here, and I’ll show you.” Eleanor accepted her challenge. “Come on—unless you’re scared to.”
That was a dare, so Jacqueline promptly scrambled through the rose tangle and found herself in the Trowbridge garden. In the moment of her arrival the paper bag that held her Crevey purchases broke, and the bone buttons, a size too small cascaded to the ground.
“You pick ’em up,” bade Eleanor, “and I’ll go get some of my things.”
If it hadn’t been for those fateful buttons, Jacqueline would very likely have posted off to Miss Crevey’s, and left Eleanor without regrets. But she had to recover the buttons, every one of them, and before she had picked up the last of them, Eleanor came panting back.
By this time Eleanor had forgotten that she and Jacqueline were on snappish terms. She was just a roly-poly child, eager to show her new treasures to another child.
“See here,” she said, as she plumped down on the turf beside Jacqueline, and displayed the articles which she lugged in the slack of her skirt, “this is scent, real grown-up scent, and the bottle that it’s in is cut glass. This cunning brush and comb and mirror set is for my doll—my biggest French doll. Have you got a doll?”
“I’m sick of dolls,” yawned Jacqueline.
“You wouldn’t be,” Eleanor told her patronizingly, “if you had a doll with real hair, like my Gladys. I had a chair for her, too, and a bed, but they were too big to bring out here, and a parlor set for my doll-house. I had this ring—it’s a scarab. And this seal for my envelopes, and some sealing-wax, all colors, and some teeny-weeny candles. And here’s a handbag, with a purse and a mirror. Have you ever had a handbag?”
“Sure,” Jacqueline told her languidly.
Eleanor opened the little red leather bag. Clearly enough, she was proud of the pretty gift. She took out the little mirror, and the wee brown handkerchief, sown with red rosebuds, and showed them to Jacqueline. Last of all, she took out the little red leather purse, and opened it, and disclosed a folded bill.