"That I could sell?" repeated little Miss Ascot. "Oh, dear, no, I haven't nothing at all to make a shop with, if that's what you mean."
"I wasn't thinking of that, missie; I was wondering now if you had any little bit of dress as you didn't want. Your clothes is very 'andsome, and something as you didn't greatly care for would fetch a few pence if it was sold, and so help on the tambourine."
Maggie's blue eyes began to sparkle.
"Why, there's my new hat," she said; "mother got it from London only a week ago, and I know it cost pounds—it has two long white feathers; I like it very much, but I could do without it, 'cause I've got my little common garden-hat to wear. Do you think I'd get two or three pennies for my new best hat with the feathers and the lace, Susy?"
"Oh, yes, missie—oh, yes, missie; I seed the hat yesterday, and I never clapped my two eyes on such a beauty. But it seems a pity to take it away from you, missie dear, and maybe the little common garden-hat would fetch enough to buy the tambourine."
"Oh, I wouldn't sell that at all," said Maggie; "I am very fond of my garden-hat, 'cause father likes me in it; and 'sides, I've gathered strawberries in it, and I've had wild birds' eggs in it. I'd much, much rather sell the stupid new hat."
Susy was quite agreeable to the transfer, and it was finally arranged that the two little girls were to meet each other at the same hour on the following morning, and Susy was to accompany Maggie to the pawnbroker's, where the new hat might be disposed of.
If there was a commonplace, ordinary, every-day London child, it was Susy Aylmer. She was the sister of two little brothers, who also belonged to a very easily found class of human beings; she was the daughter of an industrious, hard-working, every-day mother; and yet she was also sister to Jo!
How Jo got into that home was a puzzle to all who knew her; she had innate refinement; she had heaven-born beauty. Her ideas were above her class; her little flower-like face looked like some rare exotic among its ruder companions.
Mrs. Aylmer alone knew why Jo was different from her other children. Jo represented a short, bright episode in the hard-working woman's life. She had been born in good days, in sweet, happy, country days. Her father had been like her, refined in feature and poetic in temperament. Shortly after Jo's birth the Aylmers had come to London, poverty and all its attendant ills had over-taken them, and after a few years Aylmer had fallen a victim to consumption, and had left his wife with four young children on her hands, the three younger of whom altogether resembled her.