“Oh dear!” sighed Ronald, “then we can’t do it. I should have liked the guinea-fowls.”
“Oh yes,” cried Winnie, eagerly, “do get guinea-fowls; they are so pretty and funny. I have got a lot of money in my box—more than three pounds, I know. I will get the wire and wood, and make the run for them. Oh please let me, Charley! I should so like it!”
“But, Winnie, it doesn’t seem fair to take your money to spend over our animals.”
“Oh, but I want to do it, Charley, I should so like it; and I’m sure you would so like them when you had them. Do please let me make them their run. I don’t want my money—indeed I don’t.”
Ronald clapped his hands ecstatically.
“You are a brick, Winnie, a real trump! Charley, they have splendid guinea-fowls at Farmer Johnson’s. We could go and talk to him about it to-morrow after school. Oh, won’t it be jolly? I am glad you thought of it, Phil. You shall have some eggs by-and-by, and so shall Winnie. It’s just first-rate!”
The children rose to go; all the faces were very bright.
“Shall you be able to come again, Miss Winnie?” asked Phil wistfully; “it is so nice to see you sometimes.”
“I’ll come if I can,” answered the child slowly; “only I’m not sure,—I think sometimes—”
“We’re afraid sometimes she won’t be able to get out much, now that the summer is gone,” broke in Charley, with almost nervous haste; “but we’ll come to see you, Phil, Ronald and I, so don’t look blue.”