“Dear, little girl, come in and sit on this stool at mother’s feet, and tell me something funny.”
“I’ll tell you a fairy story,” said Nesta, sitting down. “It is all about a poor fairy princess, who was all covered with coal-dust and grime, and she wanted to bathe in the cool sea, and she couldn’t because—because—”
“Why?” said Mrs Aldworth.
“Because there was a horrid dragon—rather, a dragoness, who took all the pleasures for herself, and left the poor little fairy princess to pine, and pine—”
“That doesn’t sound at all a nice story,” said Nurse Davenant. “There’s no sense in it either,” she said, as she saw Mrs Aldworth’s mouth quiver. “Now, get your book and read something. Here’s ‘John Halifax.’ Go on with that.”
Nesta was forced to comply. Mrs Aldworth had been interested in the beautiful story when read aloud by Marcia, but Nesta’s rendering of it was not agreeable. “You gabble so, dear,” she said, “and you drop your words so that I cannot always catch your meaning. What was that about Ursula?”
“Oh, mother, it’s so hot, and I can’t read. I expect, mothery, I’m the fairy princess, the poor begrimed little princess.”
“You?” said Mrs Aldworth.
“Yes, mothery.”
“Then who is the dragon?”