“Derette!—alone!—whatever is the matter?”
“Nothing, Stephen; oh, nothing’s the matter. I only came alone because I knew Mother wouldn’t let me if I asked her.”
“Hoity-toity!—that’s a nice confession, young woman! And pray what are you after, now you have come?”
“Stephen—dear, good Stephen, will you do me a favour?”
“Hold off, you coaxing sinner!”
“Oh, but I want it so much! You see, she gave it up because Mother wanted a rug, and she let her have the money—and I know it won’t mend up to wear any thing like through the winter—and I do want so to get her another—a nice soft one, that will be comfortable, and—You’ll help me, won’t you, Steenie?”
And Derette’s small arms came coaxingly round her cousin’s wrist.
“I’m a heathen Jew if I have the shadow of a notion what I’m wanted to help! ‘A nice soft one!’ Is it a kitten, or a bed-quilt, or a sack of meal, you’re after?”
“O Stephen!—what queer things you guess! It’s a gown—.”
“I don’t keep gowns, young woman.”