“Péony, not pe-ó-ny,” said Berty, peevishly. Then she thought awhile, and the Mayor, losing his deeply satisfied air, sat regarding her in bewilderment.
At last she delivered her opinion sibyl-like. “I don’t know whether you’ve done a good thing or not. Only time can tell. But I think you have.”
“I’ve done just what you told me,” said the astonished man. “You said to look out for little things.”
“Yes, but the question is, have you the right yet to look out for little things,” said Berty, with some dissatisfaction in her tone. “When grandma was married she forgot her wedding-bouquet, and her newly made husband had a special train leave here to take it to Bangor, but he had the right.”
“Look here,” said the Mayor, and the red spots on his cheeks deepened, “you’re criticizing too much. I guess you’d better not interfere between Miss Everest and me.”
“You’ll want me to give her that silk when it comes,” said Berty, defiantly.
“I did—that’s just what I came to speak to you about, but now I’ll give it to her myself.”
“She may not like it.”
“She can like it, or lump it,” said Mr. Jimson, inelegantly; “when that parcel comes, I am going to take it to her.”
“Suppose the boy can’t match the silk?”