Andrew stooped his head down to the child's, and rubbed his rough cheek against her soft one, with his old facetious caress. “Tell father where you've been,” he whispered. Ellen gave him a little piteous glance, and her lip quivered, but she did not speak.
“Where do you s'pose she got them?” whispered one neighbor to another.
“I can't imagine; that's a beautiful doll.”
“Ain't it? It must have cost a lot. I know, because my Hattie had one her aunt gave her last Christmas; that one cost a dollar and ninety-eight cents, and it didn't begin to compare with this. That's a handsome cup and saucer, too.”
“Yes, but you can get real handsome cups and saucers to Crosby's for twenty-five cents. I don't think so much of that.”
“Them pinks must have come from a greenhouse.”
“Yes, they must.”
“Well, there's lots of greenhouses in the city besides the florists. That don't help much.” Then the first woman inclined her lips closely to the other woman's ear and whispered, causing the other to start back. “No, I can't believe she would,” said she.
“She came from those Louds on her mother's side,” whispered the first woman, guardedly, with dark emphasis.
“Ellen,” said Fanny, suddenly, and almost sharply, “you didn't take those things in any way you hadn't ought to, did you? Tell mother.”