“Of course,” corrected Melantho, “I never did it. I never pranced.”
Theria laughed a thrill of affectionate laughter. “I wish you had,” she declared.
“I was wondering,” said Melantho, hesitating, “if you would not take this with you to your new home.”
“I wouldn’t think of taking it,” said Theria. “It is too precious. And it belongs here in the dear old home where it has always been.”
“Yes,” said Melantho. “The ship will be crowded with useful things which you really need.”
Something in Melantho’s face, as she gathered the folds together, caught Theria.
“Mother! Do you really want me to take it? You are willing to part with it?” she exclaimed.
Melantho paused in her timid way.
“You dear Mother,” said Theria, shaking her mother’s shoulders in affectionate protest. “Don’t you suppose I’d rather have it than a hundred merely useful things? I hated to be selfish.”
Melantho’s face shone. “I have so many more.”