“I am not a little girl, Miss Bethune.”
“No, I’ll allow you’re a very big one for your age. Come, Dora, tell me what was in the box this time. It will do you good.”
Dora hesitated a little to preserve her dignity, and then she said almost with awe: “There was a dress in it".
“A dress!” cried Miss Bethune, with a little shriek of surprise; “and does it fit you?”
“It’s just a very, very little bit too short,” said Dora, with pride, “and just a very, very little bit too wide at the waist.”
“Run and bring it, and let me see it,” cried the lady. “I’ve no doubt in the world it fits like a glove. Gilchrist, come in, come in, and see what the bairn’s got. A frock that fits her like a glove.”
“Just a very, very little too short, and a very, very little too wide in the waist,” said Dora, repeating her formula. She had flown upstairs after the first moment’s hesitation, and brought it back in her arms, glad in spite of herself to be thus delivered from silence and the sense of neglect.
“Eh, mem,” cried Gilchrist, “but it must be an awfu’, awfu’ faithful woman that has minded how a lassie like that grows and gets big, and just how big she gets, a’ thae years.”
“There ye are with your moral!” cried the mistress; and to Dora’s infinite surprise tears were on her cheeks. “It’s just the lassie that makes all the difference,” said Miss Bethune. She flung the pretty dress from her, and then she rose up suddenly and gave Dora a hasty kiss. “Put it on and let me see it,” she said; “I will wager you anything it just fits like a glove.”