"The cow!"
"What of her, my child?"
"Mark, who will milk her? you know—whisper!" She put her mouth to his ear. "You know real cows has to be milked; and we said she was real, both we did, Mark!"
"This man will milk her," said Mark, smiling at the speechless image opposite him. "Did you ever milk a cow, Phillips?"
But Phillips did not speak, and the child said, openly, that he needed winding up.
So they drove back to the town and through the streets, where people started at sight of them, and stared after them, and whispered to one another; to the splendid house where, above the marble steps, the white ribbons waved on the door, with white roses above them to show that a child was mourned as dead. The child wanted to know why the ribbons were there, and whether it was a party, and a party for her; but for once no one answered her. The carriage stopped, and she flung her arms around Mark Ellery's neck, and clung tight.
"You will take me in, Mark?"
"Yes, Snow-white!"
"You will carry me up the steps, and into the house?"
"Yes, Snow-white."