“This is not poetry, only rhyme, and not very flattering rhyme either,” murmured the little Marionette. “But if it is not poetry it is love.... And it brings comfort to my sore heart, which the reasoning, and the doctoring, and the jesting could not do....”
She whispered something more, but very weakly. Her power of talking to a Mortal had all but left her, and the child had to put her head quite close to the little lady so as to be able to catch what she said.
“Let me always stay with you,” the little Marionette just managed to whisper.
“Always, dear,” said her little friend.
And then the little lady fell asleep quite happily. That at least was what the little girl thought. And if she thought so we might as well think the same.
“You want me to give you that little Marionette?” said the owner of the toy-shop to the little girl that same evening. “Very well, Molly, you shall have her.”
“Oh, thank you, Auntie!” replied her little niece with much gratitude.