“I want two posies,” said the child. “One for Dick, and one for Dolly. It’s Dick’s birthday, but if I give him a posy, and don’t give Dolly one, Dolly will cry.”
The pretty child’s little voice was full of anxious confidence. In making her statement she felt sure of sympathy, and she addressed not only her mother, but Jill and Molly Maloney.
Molly, who was squatting down on her knees, began to murmur an eager torrent of Irish blessings.
“Eh, glory! What a darlint it is!” she said. “For all the world like my little Kathleen! And so you want some flowers, my beauty? You let me sarve her, Jill. I has got rose-buds and mignonette all made up most enticing only a ha’p’ny a bunch.”
“I want two bunches,” repeated the child in her clear, precise voice, “one for Dick, because it’s his birthday, and one for Dolly. Dolly’s free years old, and she’ll cry if I don’t take her a flower. I’ve only got one penny.”
She opened the palm of her little hot hand, and showed Molly the coin.
“Now then, you shall choose, my pet,” said the Irishwoman. “These bee-u-tiful flowers was growin’ on the trees half-an-hour ago; why the jew is scarcely dried on ’em yet. You choose, my pretty, you choose. Oh, the smell of ’em, why they’ll nearly knock you down with the swateness. Thank you, lovey, thank you. May the Vargint bless you, me darlint, and that’s the prayer of poor old Molly Maloney.”
The child received the rather stale rose-buds and mignonette with silent rapture. Having received her prizes she scarcely gave another glance at Molly, but began chattering eagerly to her mother about the bliss which Dick and Dolly would feel when she presented the posies to them.
The lady having paid Jill for the flowers, took the child’s hand and walked away. Molly gave a laugh of satisfaction as they did so.
“I told you so,” she said, turning to Jill, “I said if I sold ’em chape I’d get rid of ’em, and they was under Kathleen’s bed all night. I called ’em fresh to the child, bless her. She is a beauty, but—why, what’s the matter, Jill?”