“Would you put in my little paint-box, mother?” asked Lucy.
“Why, no,” answered her mother, “I think I should not; for you often want to use your paint-box when Marielle comes to see you.”
“Well, at any rate,” said Royal, “we will put in all our little pictures; for we don’t care much about pasting pictures, except when we can’t go out of doors.”
They accordingly collected all their loose pictures, and old, worn-out picture-books, such as they were accustomed to cut the pictures out of, to make new picture-books with of their own. They also had a number of pieces of marble paper, and gilt paper, and other kinds of paper, of various colors, which they were accustomed to use for making little pocket-books, and wallets, and portfolios. These they tied up neatly together, and laid in the bottom of the box.
Then they selected a number of books, such as they thought they could best spare, and placed them in two rows in the bottom of the box, across the end. They also put in a number of playthings, the large ones below, and the smaller ones in the till. When all was ready, they locked it up, and gave their mother the key.
That night, however, when their father came home, the marble box had to be opened again a moment, to put in two parcels which he brought. One looked as if it had books in it, and the other something of an irregular shape. Their father would not tell them what was in the parcels. He only said it was something to amuse convalescents, whenever there should be any. He then locked up the box again immediately, and gave the key to the children, to be carried to their mother.
That evening Lucy said to Royal,—
“Royal, how long do you think it will be before you or I shall be sick?”
“I don’t know,” said Royal. “Why?”
“Because,” said Lucy, “only I should like to open our marble box.”