“Of Kate.”
“I!--I!” jeered the handsome, spoiled girl, with an outburst of laughter. “I jealous of that creature. Cockles and winkles picked off a mud-bank!”
“Give up that handkerchief,” exclaimed Jan passionately.
“I really will not have it. I assure you I will not. Take it,” pleaded Kate, “I have no right to accept any present.”
“Nonsense,” said Pooke. “I invited you to the fair, and here you are with me. I must and I will give you something by which to remember me.”
He stepped back and pushed his way through the crowd to another stall. Kate remained where she was with fluttering heart, averting her burning face from the eyes of Rose, and looking eagerly among the throng for her uncle or father.
Presently Jan returned.
“There,” said he, “now I have something more worthy of you: a really good and handsome workbox.”
He held out a polished box with mother-of-pearl shield on the lid, and scutcheon for the keyhole.
“Look at it!” he said, and, raising the lid, displayed blue silk lined and padded compartments, stocked with thimble, scissors, reels, pins, needles, bodkin, and a tray. “Look!” exclaimed Jan, his cheeks glowing with mingled anger and pleasure; “underneath a place where you can put letters--anything; and you can lock the whole up. There, it is yours.”