“Dealings with the fairies,” said Raeburn, smiling. “Your beggar-child with the scones suddenly transformed into a beneficent rewarder.”
“Not from you, father?”
Raeburn laughed.
“A pretty substantial fairy for you. No, no, I had no hand in it. I can't give you presents while I am in debt, my bairn.”
“Oh, isn't it jolly to get what one wants!” said Erica, with a fervor which made the three grown-up people laugh.
“Very jolly,” said Raeburn, giving her a little mute caress.
“But now, Erica, please to go back and eat something, or I shall have my reporter fainting in the middle of a speech.”
She obeyed, carrying away the book with her, and enlivening them with extracts from it; once delightedly discovering a most appropriate passage.
“Why, of course,” she exclaimed, “you and Mr. Osmond, father, are smoking the Peace Pipe.” And with much force and animation she read them bits from the first canto.
Raeburn left the room before long to get ready for his meeting, but
Erica still lingered over her new treasure, putting it down at length
with great reluctance to prepare her notebook and sharpen her pencil.
“Isn't that a delightful bit where Hiawatha was angry,” she said; “it
has been running in my head all day—
“'For his heart was hot within him,
Like a living coal his heart was.'