“Do you know,” went on the little chatterbox, as Bertie turned and walked beside her,—“do you know we are not going to live here much longer? only till midsummer, perhaps not so long?”
“I didn’t know,” answered Bertie. “Why are you going away?”
“Mamma doesn’t like it, nor papa either; and I don’t think I care for it so very much;” and the little maiden put on her grand air, as if her wishes had been of very great consequence in the decision of her parents. “We always used to live in London till papa had this place left to him, and then we came here for a little while; but nobody cares very particular for it, and so they have decided to sell it.”
Bertie opened his eyes wide.
“Then will somebody else buy it, and come and live here?” he asked.
Queenie nodded her head mysteriously.
“Somebody has bought it already.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, somebody you know. Guess who it is.”
“Somebody I know,” repeated Bertie, slowly; “but I know so few people.”