“And now, I look almost as smart as the Princess Dove herself.”
“I really think you do, Fluff, though you remember her dress was a curious embroidery of rainbows and dew-drops sewn all over with peacocks’ eyes; but I assure you I like your white frock much better; and the new hat is very pretty.”
“But Fern!—”
“But Fluff!—”
“If I were to be lost—really and truly lost, you know—would the funny old town-crier tell a long story about me as he did about the dog when we were down by the sea last summer?”
“Of course he would, and mother and I would stand and listen to him and try not to laugh. ‘Lost, stolen, or strayed, a little witch-girl in a clean white frock, rather too much starched; a frilled cape that crackles when she moves, and a pretty broad-brimmed hat.’ Well, Fluffy, what does that mysterious look mean? you are very rude to interrupt the old crier,” and Fern tried to frown, while Fluff nodded her head sagaciously.
“It would not be stolen or lost, it would be strayed like the sheep in the turnip-field, when the shepherd turned them all out because they had no business there. Supposing I strayed on purpose, Fern, you must send a crier covered all over with gold lace to find me.”
“Indeed! have you lost your senses, Fluff?”
“Never mind the senses; I saw them all five in china in Mrs. Watkins’s left hand corner-cupboard, china images she called them, and I thought them so pretty. Give me the fourpence half-penny for buns, Fern—one Bath, two plain, and a half-penny to the sweeper that takes me best over the crossing.”
“Oh, Fluff, Fluff, do be careful, and mind you do not go too far; come back soon, like a good child.”