But this part of the day’s programme being finished, Rosalie turned disconsolately to her dress.
“It’s so shabby and short,” said she.
“Well, look amongst your luggage,” said Brightcoat, who was engaged in jumping for further recreation over all the articles on the washstand.
“My luggage,” said she, looking towards the little hand-bag. “It can’t be in there.”
“No harm in looking,” said the frog, and jumped clean over the water-jug, and then sat as still as if jumping were the last thing it would ever think of doing.
Rosalie laughed, and then opened the bag and looked.
There was packed into that little leather hand-bag everything to make a perfect though not extravagant outfit. A coat and skirt that no fashionable tailor would be ashamed to turn out, a pretty, simple dress for household wear, the evening dress which she had worn the other night, slippers, gloves, and all accessories. Last but not least, there was a little box of jewellery in perfect taste and finish.
“Oh, Brightcoat, look, look!” she cried, as one after the other she drew out those new delights. “Who can have done it? I don’t think it could have been the Governor. I’m sure he never bothered much about one’s clothes.”
And then the frog’s voice fell to a reverent whisper, so it almost seemed.
“I once saw the Governor’s wife pack a Christmas box for a little boy a long way off at school, and it was quite miraculous.”