"I have such Tom Thumb boots that when I put them on I shall be beyond the sea with three great steps. How does that plan please you?"
"You give a shower of plans to-day," jested Malvina.
"A portrait, flight from the rod, America."
"A ball!" exclaimed Cara, raising her head. "Do you know of it,
Maryan? In a few weeks we shall have a real ball—a grand one."
"Your tale is curious, little one, tell on," answered Maryan. "When talk is the question, there is never need to beg Cara twice."
She sprang up from her knees and told of the hour which she had spent in her father's study a few days before. She had told her mother and sister of the plan of the ball, but how it rose she had not told. Something had prevented. Now she would tell them all. Three gentlemen had visited her father: Prince Zeno, Count Charski, and a third person whose name she did not remember, but he was a large man, tall and broad; his breast glittered with stars and crosses. She, Cara, wished to hide from the guests behind the bookshelves—there were shelves behind which she sat often, invisible herself, she saw and heard everything. It was a wonderfully comfortable hiding-place, in which her only trouble was Puff; for, when anyone came to the study he wanted to bark, but she squeezed his nose with her hand tightly, and he was silent. That day she did not go behind the book-shelves, for her father commanded her to sit in the armchair. So she sat there with dignity.
Now she sat on the stool, and showed them in what a posture she had sat in presence of her father's guests, her hands on her knees, bolt upright, with dignity on her rosy face. Puffie alone interrupted this dignity, she said; he crawled up behind her, put his paws on her shoulder, and touched her with his moist nose. One of the gentlemen turned then to her, and said:
"You have a beautiful dog, young lady."
"He is very nice," answered she.
"And what is his name?" asked the man.