"He can't help having been born in a workhouse," Mousey said, looking troubled.
"No, no, of course not," the other replied; "but what a strange person your cousin must be to have a common boy like that living in his house as though he was one of the family."
"I don't think John Monday is common," Mousey was beginning, when she paused abruptly at the sight of the half-smile that crossed her companion's face.
"Mr. Harding is very rich, isn't he?" Nellie asked.
"I don't know," Mousey answered. "I thought he was, but—"
"Oh, yes, I know he is. I heard father say so. Father said he expected he was one of the richest men in Haughton. Fancy! And his is such a poky shop, isn't it? Do you know, I could hardly believe, at first, that you lived there? I tell you what, I'll get my mother to ask you to tea on Saturday. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," Mousey assented, with a beaming smile, her eyes sparkling at the thought of such a pleasure. "How very kind of you, Nellie!"
"Oh, not at all!" Nellie answered brightly; "I like you very much, and I shall call you Mousey, as you say you are generally called that. It's a much prettier name than Arabella. Look, there are the twins!"
Mousey turned quickly, and saw Mrs. Downing's children entering the playground with their nurse. They were a dear little pair—Dolly and Dick by name—and they loved to be allowed a few minutes in the playground when the girls were there to make much of them. To-day they had just returned from a walk with their nurse, and each child held a bunch of daisies, gathered with very short stems. Dolly trotted up to Mousey and held up her chubby baby face for a kiss; after which she solemnly presented her nosegay to her new acquaintance.
"For 'ou," she lisped, "all for 'ou!"