"She used to be an awful jolly little kid—before her mother died," Nick said. "I'm afraid she's had a tough time ever since. She's just too useful—that's what's the matter with 'Possum!" He put some money into, her hand. "Will that do?"
"It is too much," Aileen said.
"Oh, you'll use it up soon enough. Tell me when you want more. And thank you, Mrs. Macleod. You've made a mighty lot of difference to 'Poss. I reckon the day you came here was a lucky day for her!"
Thus it was that 'Possum, summoned by Aileen, beheld dress-lengths of material of divers colours, and learned, to her utter amazement, that they were hers.
"Dad give you the money!" she gasped. "Dad? Well, that just beats everything!"
"Of course he gave it to me," Aileen said.
"An' never made a fuss?".
"No—why should he. I don't think you're quite fair to your father, 'Possum. You have made him think you care for nothing but work. Doesn't it ever occur to you that he would like to see his eldest daughter nicely dressed?"
"No, it don't," said 'Possum firmly. "I think he'd a jolly sight sooner see me on top of a plough!" Which view held so much truth that Aileen was compelled to laugh. Nevertheless, she held to her point.
"If he does, it's your own doing," she said. "Men are queer creatures: they always think what a woman encourages them to think. You have let him imagine that dungaree was the only thing to dress in. But once he sees you in something prettier, he won't be satisfied with the old dresses any more, except just for working."