“You have bought and paid for it,” said Christabel.
“Somebody else will buy the box,” said David wistfully.
Miss Fosbrook, within herself, thought this unlikely, for nobody went to Bonchamp for costly shopping; and she saw that the woman would gladly have had the knife back, if she could have sold the tool-box, which, even at this reduced price, was much too dear for the little boys who frequented the shop.
“Come away now, my dear,” she said decidedly. “No, another time, thank you.”
David was as nearly crying as ever he was, as he was forced to follow her out of the shop. Those tools were so charming; his fingers tingled to be hammering, sawing, boring holes. Had he lost the chance for that poor blunt knife? Must he wait a whole fortnight for another sixpence, and find the delicious tool-chest gone?
“Dear Davie, I am very sorry,” said Christabel when they were in the street.
“That nasty knife!” cried David.
“It is not the knife, Davie,” said she; “but that I want to think—I want you to think—why these ten shillings must have been sent.”
“Because we lost the money for the pig,” said David. “But Kattern Hill fair is over, and I don’t want a pig now; I do want the gimlet to make holes—”
“Yes, David; but you know what was saved for the pig came from all of you; you would have had no right to spend it on anything else, unless they all had consented.”