“Oh, my lamb!” sobbed Violet Elizabeth’s nurse as she led her away. “My poor lamb!”
In an incredibly short time they returned. The mysterious something had been done. Violet Elizabeth’s head was a mass of curls. Her face shone with cleanliness. Dainty lace-trimmed skirts stuck out ballet-dancer-wise beneath the pale blue waistband. Mr. Bott took a deep breath.
“Now fetch her mother,” he said.
Like a tornado entered Mrs. Bott. She still heaved with hysterics. She enfolded Violet Elizabeth to her visibly palpitating bosom.
“My child,” she sobbed, “Oh my darling child.”
“I wath a thquaw,” said Violet Elizabeth. “It dothn’t make any thort of a noith. Ith a lady.”
“How did you——” began Mrs. Bott still straining Violet Elizabeth to her.
“These boys found her——” said Mr. Bott.
“Oh, how kind—how noble,” said Mrs. Bott. “And one’s that nice little boy who played with her so sweetly yesterday. Give them ten shillings each, Botty.”
“Well, but——” hesitated Mr. Bott remembering the circumstances in which they had been brought to him.