"My precious lambie!" said the mother; and, forgetting her own aversion to Daisy's pets in her sympathy for the child, she held out her arms to her, and gathered her, mice and all, within their loving clasp.
Thoughtful Nellie in another instant had taken the mice from Daisy's hold, and shutting both within the box laid it on a chair at a distance.
"Mamma," sobbed Daisy, hiding her little pitiful face on her mother's bosom, "I will take 'em back to Frankie. I didn't know you would degust 'em so, and I'm sorry I bringed 'em home for you to see. And, mamma, I wouldn't be a cry-baby, 'deed I wouldn't, if I could help it."
"You can cry a little if you want to, and no one shall call you a cry-baby, my pet," said her mother, "and"—Mrs. Ransom hesitated; then after a little struggle with herself, went on—"and you shall keep the mice, darling. Perhaps we can find a place for them where mamma will not see them."
Daisy raised her head, showing flushed cheeks and tearful eyes, and a still quivering lip, although smiles and dimples were already mingling themselves with these signs of distress, at this crumb of comfort.
Never was such an April face and temper as Daisy Ransom's.
"I'll tell you, mamma," said Johnny, coming to the rescue, "Bob and I can make a cubby hole for them down in the garden-house, and they can live there, where they need never bother you. Daisy can go and play with them there when she wants them. Will that do, Daisy?"
Do? One would have thought so to see Daisy's delight. She was beaming and dimpling all over now.
"Oh! you dear, darling, loving Johnny," she exclaimed, clapping her hands; then turning to her mother, and softly touching her cheek, she asked in the most insinuating little way,—
"Mamma, dear, would they trouble you down in the garden-house? If they would, I'll do wifout 'em."