“That’s one for me!” cried Nan, grimacing. “What is your especial fancy, my love—a side-board or a dining-room table? Don’t be bashful, pray! Aim at the sky, and you may succeed in hitting the tree. I shouldn’t wonder if I rose to a milking-stool, if you asked me nicely.”
“And I’ll work you a kettle-holder, sweet one, as soon as the sale is over, and Chrissie a—”
“Twine bag,” said Chrissie, simpering; “but until July you might as well give up the idea, Lilias. Every moment we have, we must use for sale-work, and every penny we can save in to the bargain. We can’t attend to you just yet.”
“I thought perhaps you might start me with a few contributions from the things you have made,” said modest Lilias. “The drawer looks lonesome with nothing in it, and I’ve made it so tidy! It would be a comfortable home for that little blue cushion, and the mats with the roses. And you would never miss them!”
“Wouldn’t we just? The very best things we have! It is a pity your modesty doesn’t equal your taste. I should miss the smallest thing we have made; and whenever I get low-spirited, I turn them all out of the box and gloat over the collection—eleven pin-cushions, three sets of mats, a table centre, three work-bags, two handkerchief sachets, six babies’ shoes, and a nice wool shawl! It’s not bad for a start, and there are lots of things on hand, besides Nan’s carving and brass-work. It would be like tearing my heart out of my body to give anything away, and I don’t think it would be at all a nice idea to start your collection by stealing from the poor!”
Lilias looked appalled at the suggestion, but all the same she was not too much shocked to seize on the chance of future spoils.
“Agatha, how can you? I am the last person in the world to think of such a thing. I suggested the sale, remember; you would not have had it at all but for me; but how could a little thing like a pin-cushion be called a theft? However, it’s all right; don’t give them me at present if you would rather not. After the sale there are sure to be some things left, and then—You would not mind giving them to me then, I suppose?”
“Certainly not. At least I am quite willing if the others are,” said Agatha, looking round inquiringly; upon which Nan and Elsie nodded assent, and Chrissie bargained, “Unless I am engaged myself by that time, when, of course, they must be equally divided,”—a contingency so remote that Lilias congratulated herself on a good morning’s work, and felt that so far as pin-cushions were concerned the future held no further anxiety.
Work for the sale had, indeed, been carried forward with great zest; and now that the days were lengthening, there was a good two hours after tea, when Kitty could join the party in the porch-room, and stitch away at some dainty task while carrying on that breathless stream of conversation which never seemed to run short, despite the daily meetings. Nan brought down her carving, and worked at a little table of her own; Elsie cut and planned with delicate, accurate fingers; and the three younger girls sewed away in characteristic fashion: Agatha bending double over the seam; Christabel, erect and stately, drawing her thread to its full length with leisurely, dignified movements; and Kitty, with her spectacles on the tip of her nose, peering over them from time to time in grandmotherly concern at the frivolity of her companions.
Nothing more had been discovered about “Diogenes,” as Mr Vanburgh had been nicknamed since his refusal to receive visitors; but on fine days his couch was wheeled close to the window, and as he lay looking out, it was inevitable that the movements of the girls in the sunny porch-room immediately opposite should attract his wandering attention. When they glanced across in their turn, he politely turned aside, and appeared engrossed in his book; but no sooner were they at work again than the tired eyes would be lifted once more, to dwell with wistful interest on the bright young faces. One afternoon in especial, as Nan sat bending over her carving, the conviction strengthened that she was observed. She peered under her eyelashes, smiled mischievously to herself, and suddenly leapt from her seat in a manner most startling to the nerves of her sisters. She hopped on one foot and waved her arms in the air; she swooped down on Chrissie’s work and threw it wildly to the ceiling; she thrust her face into Elsie’s and went off into a peal of maniacal laughter, which sent that nervous young person flying to the farthest corner. She seized a bundle of ribbons and danced an impromptu skirt dance, flourishing them to and fro, while he onlookers scuttled together like rabbits, and felt that their lives trembled in the balance. Finally, after succeeding in turning the room topsy-turvy, and raising the most powerful doubts as to her own sanity, Miss Nan tottered out on to the landing and collapsed in a breathless heap on the lowest stair, while her sisters looked on askance from a discreet distance.