“My little daughter repays me every day.”
The mother was well contented with Annette’s pleasure for all the pains she had taken.
“And, sister Annette, see, I gave you the fan.”
“And oh, sister, look at the pretty mouchoir; that is from me.”
And the happy Annette kissed and thanked, and they were all so pleased that breakfast was quite forgotten and would have grown cold if black Mimi had not put her head in at the door to remind them of it.
When Annette had put on the new birthday dress, laced the slippers around her slender ankles, and held the fan and kerchief, she ran into her mother’s room to show her the effect.
“See, mamma, it just fits me”; and she gave the small skirts a toss and a pat, while her mother turned from the table where she had been standing with a small casket in her hand.
“Dearest Annette,” said she, in quite a solemn voice, “I shall let you wear to-day what my father gave to me, saying that one day it was to be thine. When you are grown to be a big girl, it shall be yours to have always, but to-day you shall wear it because you are my good child, and I love you fondly.”
As Madame Valvier spoke, she clasped about Annette’s neck the pearl necklace, the only remnant of the packet of jewels which had come from France, and which had been drawn on when crops failed, or for the purchase of slaves, or for some of the many needs in a new country where money is scarce.
“Oh, mamma!” and Annette’s voice was low with pleasure as she gently touched the rows of shining pearls which seemed far too costly a jewel for the neck of a little girl, and quite out of place over the modest frock.