“If you’re very quick, Miss,” he said, “I’ll do it.”
“You are good,” said Sibyl. “Do you know, Watson, that you’re a very nice man—you have very good impulses, I mean. I heard father once say of a man who dined here that he had good impulses, and I think he had a look of you; and you have very good impulses, too. Now let’s go; do let’s be quick.”
A moment later the footman and the child were in the street. Sibyl walked on in front, and Watson a couple of feet behind her. Holman’s shop was fortunately not far off, and they soon entered it.
“Watson,” said the little girl, “you can stand in the doorway. It’s very private, what I has to say to the Holmans; you must on no account listen.”
“No, Miss, I won’t.”
Sibyl now entered the shop. Mrs. Holman was alone there. She was attending in the shop while her husband was eating his dinner. She looked very sad, and, as Sibyl expressed it afterwards, rusty. There were days when Mrs. Holman did present that appearance—when her cap seemed to want dusting and her collar to want freshness. Her black dress, too, looked a little worn. Sibyl was very, very sorry for her when she saw her in this dress.
“Dear! dear!” she said; “I am glad I came. You look as if you wanted cheering up. Mrs. Holman, I’ve splendid news for you.”
“What is that, my dear little lady? That you have got money to buy another toy? But Mr. Holman said only as late as last night that he wouldn’t send you another worn-out toy not for nobody. ’Tain’t fair, my love. It seems like playing on your generosity, my dear.”
“But I like them,” said the child; “I do really, truly. I paint them up with the paints in my paint-box and make them look as good as new. They are much more interesting than perfect toys, they are truly.”