Straws nodded. “That’s it; somewhere!”
The girl’s eyes flashed; her little hands clenched. “I won’t; I won’t!”
“Then that’s the end on’t!” retorted the bard. “I had bought you some new dresses, a trunk with your name on it, and had made arrangements with Mademoiselle de Castiglione (who had read ‘Straws’ Strophes’), but perhaps I could give the dresses away to some other little girl who will be glad to drink at the Pierian––I mean, the Castiglione––spring.”
Celestina’s eyes were an agony of jealousy; not that she was mercenary, or cared for the dresses, but that Straws should give them to another little girl. Her pride, however, held her in check and she drew herself up with composure.
“That would be nice––for the other little girl!” she said.
“The only difficulty is,” resumed Straws, “there isn’t any other little girl.”
At that, Celestina gave a glad cry and flew to him, throwing her arms around his neck.
“Oh, I will go anywhere you want!” she exclaimed.
“Get on your bonnet then––before you change your mind, my dear!”
“And aunt?” asked Celestina, lingering doubtfully on the threshold.