"Oh, fie! Master Chris," she answered reprovingly.
"It isn't like a big man to wear a velvet suit, it's like a baby," he went on, grumblingly. "Uncle Godfrey doesn't wear velvet clothes, and why should I?"
"Don't you grumble at your velvet suit, Master Chris," Briggs said in a warning tone. "You may come to want it some day. There's many a little boy in the gutter as would be glad and proud to own it."
"Then I wish you would give it to the little boys in the gutters," the little beggar answered wilfully. "I shall ask my Granny to give it to them, 'cause I hate it. And I'm going to play at horses; aren't I, Miss Beggarley?"
"Not with me," I said firmly, "until you have done what Briggs tells you."
"You said you would," he remarked, pouting.
"So I will," I replied, "when you have obeyed Briggs."
He glanced at me inquiringly to see if there was no chance of my relenting, but I preserved a severe and resolute expression—in spite of a distinct inclination to smile,—seeing which he left with laggard step to don the despised suit.
When, later, he returned in that same suit—in the dark-blue knickerbockers and coat, the large Vandyke collar of cream lace, and the little white satin vest,—I really thought that he looked the sweetest little picture in the world!
He had, indeed, such an extremely clean, well-brushed, and altogether spotless appearance, that I hesitated about the promised game of horses, fearing to spoil the result of Briggs' work, before that all-important event—the arrival of Uncle Godfrey.