“It looks interesting,” announced Grandfather soberly. “I think you’ve made a good choice. Susan, are you ready?”
“Look,” murmured Susan, faint with admiration. “Look what I’ve found.”
It was a white china egg, and, lifting off the top, there lay a little dolly, as snug as could be.
“It’s beautiful,” said Susan. And bold with gratitude, she stood on tiptoe and placed a kiss upon Madame Bonnet’s wrinkled cheek.
“Well!” said Madame Bonnet, taken aback for the moment, but liking it nevertheless. “If I had a good knee I’d step down cellar for a bottle of my raspberry vinegar to treat you all. How are your knees, Mr. Whiting?”
“Young as a boy’s,” returned Grandfather, rubbing them as he spoke. “But here’s Parson Drew. Suppose we let him step down. He doesn’t know that he has any knees.”
So Parson Drew, as fond as Susan of raspberry vinegar, obligingly “stepped down cellar,” and brought up a tall rosy bottle the contents of which, under Madame Bonnet’s careful eye, he poured into thin little glasses with a gold band about the top.
“Well,” said Grandfather, after he had actually turned the bottle upside down to prove to Susan and Phil that there was not a single drop left in it, “I’m afraid the time has come for us to go.”
And after many good-byes and messages for Grandmother, the party moved toward the door.
Parson Drew led the way, and, as he opened the door, something from outside, with a clatter and clash, darted into the shop, whirled down the aisle, and subsided with a jangle into a dark corner at the back of the store.