"Yes," nodded May, "that's mamma, and Rupert's mamma. Oh! I'm so sorry papa isn't coming home soon. Do you know," looking up in his face with big, shining, solemn eyes, "I've got a pony, and I can ride lovely; and its name is Snow-drop, because it's all white, and Rupert's is black, and his name is Sultan? And I've got a watch; mamma gave it to me last Christmas; and my doll's name—the big one, you know, that opens its eyes and says, 'mamma' and 'papa,' is Sonora. Have you got any little girls at home?"
"One, Miss Chatterbox."
"What's her name?"
"Aileen—Aileen Jocyln."
"Is she nice?"
"Very nice, I think."
"Will she come to see me?"
"If you wish it, and mamma wishes it."
"Oh, yes! you do, don't you, mamma? How big is your little girl—as big as me?"
"Bigger, I fancy. She is nine years old."