“How?”
“It will buy peppermints.”
“Well, then, here it is, child. Take it and be off.”
Penelope snatched it. Her face grew cheerful. She shot up the blind with a deft movement. She jumped from her seat on the window-ledge. She was no longer doubled up.
“Thank you, dad,” she said. “Thank you—thank you.”
She rushed away.
“I’ll have another sixpence to-morrow,” she thought. “That’s a whole beautiful shilling. I will do fine when I am at the seaside.”
Penelope could scarcely sleep that night. She got up early the next morning. She was determined to stand at the gate and watch for the postman. The letters usually arrived about eight o’clock. The postman hove in sight, and Pen rushed to meet him.
“Have you letters—a letter for me?” she asked.
“No, Miss Penelope, but there is one for your nurse.”