A rush of hope filled the heart of Clare: what if it should be the menagerie he knew so well! And, sure enough, there was Mr. Halliwell superintending operations! But if Glum Gunn were about, he might find it awkward with the child in his arms! Gunn might not respect even her! Besides he ought to ask leave to take her! He would carry her home first, and come again to see his third mother and all his old friends, with Pummy and the lion and the rest of the creatures.
Little Ann was eager to know what those curious houses on wheels were. Clare told her they were like her Noah’s ark, full of beasts, only real, live beasts, not beasts made of bits of stick. She became at once eager to see them—the more eager that her contempt of things like life that wouldn’t come alive had been growing stronger ever since she threw her doll out of the window. Clare told her he could not take her without first asking leave. This puzzled her: Clare was her highest authority.
“But if you take me?” she said.
“Your papa and mamma might not like me to take you.”
“But I’m yours!”
“Yes, you’re mine—but not so much,” he added with a sigh, “as theirs!”
“Ain’t I?” she rejoined, in a tone of protesting astonishment mingled with grief, and began to wriggle, wanting to get down.
Clare set her down, and would have held her, as usual, by the hand, but she would not let him. She stood with her eyes on the ground, and her little gray face looking like stone. It frightened Clare, and he remained a moment silent, reviewing the situation.
“You see, little one,” he said at length, “you were theirs before I came! You were sent to them. You are their own little girl, and we must mind what they would like!”
“It was only till you came!” she argued. “They don’t care very much for me. Ask them, please, to sell me to you. I don’t think they would want much money for me! How many shillings do you think I am worth, Clare? Not many, I hope!—Six?”