The little girl began to whimper.
I couldn't stand blubbering, at any rate. I must do something to stop that. What would appeal to her? There was the engine which would puff out steam when you lighted the lamp under its boiler. Instinctively I knew she would not care for that.
There was my bag of marbles,—including two "alleys," one of which had some beautiful substance that looked like checkerberry candy inside it.
I brought the marbles forward; she remained passive.
My railroad punch (which had once belonged to a real conductor on a train)—she might look at that. Nay, more, she might punch fascinating little holes in a piece of paper with it. In my determination to be hospitable I would leave no stone unturned.
But she laid the punch down, and wandered listlessly toward the door, her thumb once more in her mouth.
There was nothing for it but to play my highest trump; she should see my white mice! They were prosperous and interesting, and there were five new ones since last week.
"Come here," I said, and I took her to their box. We looked down into their home, and as we did so, an elder mouse poked his head above the straw, and sniffed the air curiously, his little eyes twinkling, and his whiskers quivering with excitement.
Miss Alice uttered a loud squeal, and dashed out of the room. I could hear her all along the passage:—
"Oh, mamma, mamma,—a mouth! a mouth!"