“And are you not afraid they may call you extravagant at home, getting so many braw things?”
Christie laughed.
“I’m no’ sure. But then—unless it’s Aunt Elsie’s gown—there’s nothing dear. They are just prints; the frocks and the other things are all useful, except perhaps the playthings for the bairns; and they are useful too, for things that give pleasure have a use, I am sure.”
“It canna be doubted,” said her friend, laughing.
Christie’s face grew a little grave, after a rather lengthened examination of the pieces left in her purse.
“There is just one other thing; but I fear I ought not to have left it to the last. It’s for blind Alice. I have thought about it so long. It’s not very far, we might ask the price of it, anyway.”
It was true, the place was not very far; but it was a shop of greater pretensions than any they had entered yet. Christie had set her heart on a musical-box, which she knew would be a treasure to the blind child. But the cost! It was altogether beyond her means, even if she were to stay another month.
The disappointment was very great.
“Allie must have something that she can hear, you ken; and I had no thought that it would be so dear.”
“Why not send her a bird—a real canary?” said John, as they made a pause at a low window in a narrow street, where a great variety of cages were hanging.