'Oh, Mother Manikin,' said Rosalie, 'what do you mean?'
'What do I mean, child? Why, that you're to sleep here to-night, and then go, all rested and refreshed, to your aunt's to-morrow. That's what I mean. Why, I have ever such a nice little house here, bless you!' said the little woman. 'Just you come and look.'
So she took Rosalie upstairs, and showed her the neatest little bedroom in the front of the house, and another room over the kitchen which Mother Manikin called her greenhouse, for in it, arranged on boxes near the window, were all manner of flowerpots, containing all manner of flowers, ferns, and mosses.
'It's a nice sunny room, my dear,' said Mother Manikin, 'and it's my hobby, you see; and old age must have its liberties, and these little bits of plants are my hobby. I live here all alone, and they're company, you see. And now, come downstairs and see my little parlour.'
The parlour was in the front of the house, and it was the shutters of this room which Mother Manikin was closing as Rosalie came up. A bright lamp hung from the ceiling of the room, and white muslin curtains adorned the window; but what struck Rosalie most of all was that the parlour was full of chairs. There were rows and rows of chairs; indeed, the parlour was so full of them that Mother Manikin and Rosalie could hardly find a place to stand.
'What a number of chairs you have here, Mother Manikin!' said the child in amazement.
The old woman laughed at Rosalie's astonished face.
'Rosalie, child,' she said, 'do you remember how you talked to me that night—the night when we sat up in the caravan?'
Rosalie's eyes filled with tears at the thought of it.
'Yes, dear Mother Manikin,' she answered.