“Jane?” she answered hesitatingly. “Why, she is Jane.”
“Not your mamma?”
“No,—just Jane.”
“And what did Jane want here?”
“She told me to come, and she would follow presently,” said the child, saying her little lesson over again.
Evidently there was nothing more to be got out of her; but Miss Harding coaxed her to come into the cool parlor, and wait for Jane; and gave her some strawberries and cream in a gayly painted china saucer, that all children liked. Rosebud was no exception to the rest. When she had finished her berries, she tapped on the saucer with her spoon.
“I will have it for mine, while I stay,—may I?” she said. “Not to take away, but just to call, you know.”
“Surely,” said Miss Harding, more puzzled than ever. Had the sprite, then, come to stay? Were there, by chance, fairies after all,—and was this some changeling from out their ranks? She tried to entertain her small guest; and she found her quite accessible to the charms of pictures, and contented for an hour with a box of red and white chessmen. Towards night her curiosity got the better of her courtesy; and, looking from the window, she inquired,—