striking her glass lightly with her spoon at the accented notes, and beating an accompaniment alternately on her cup and saucer.
Miss Priscilla’s eyes grew almost as big as her precious and endangered saucers, but the dear old tune, sung in the pretty, childish voice, with its tinkling accompaniment, held her spellbound, and she said not a word.
As Ladybird finished the refrain she said eagerly:
“Now we’ll do it again, and you both tap your glasses and sing with me.”
And would you believe it? Those two old ladies were so interested that they tapped on their glasses with their thin old silver spoons, and sang with their thin old voices for all they were worth.
“That was very pretty,” observed Ladybird, approvingly, when at last they all laid down their spoons. “And now if you’ve finished your breakfast, Aunt Priscilla, will you take me out and show me round the garden?”
But Miss Priscilla Flint had by no means lost her mind entirely, and she said:
“You have no time to go round the garden,—you are to start back to Boston this morning, and from there to London as soon as possible.”
“Oh, am I?” said Ladybird, with a wise smile, and an air as of one humoring a wayward child.
“You are indeed,” said her aunt, severely; “and now, if you will come into the morning-room with us, we will ask you a few questions before you go.”