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Chapter Nine.
Tears and Smiles

The spring turned into summer, and with the longer days and warmer sunshine and gentle rain there grew up a great many more “pretty things” for Mary to show to her little sister Dolly; and Dolly herself grew like the flowers and the lambs. By the time she was three months old she could not only smile, she could even give little chuckling laughs when she was very pleased. Mary was quite sure that the baby understood all she said to her, and I do not think she would have been very surprised any day if Dolly had begun to talk.

“Why can’t she talk, mamma?” she asked her mother one morning.

“No little baby learns to do everything at once,” mamma answered. “She has to learn to walk and run and use her little hands the way you do. Just think what a lot of things babies have to learn; you must have patience.”

Mary tried to have patience; she did not so much mind baby’s not being able to stand or walk or things of that kind, for she could understand that her little legs needed to grow stronger and firmer, but for a long time she could not understand about the not talking, and it got to be quite a trouble to her.

“She can cry and she can laugh and she can coo, and she hears all the words we say to her,” said Mary, with a little sigh; “I can’t think why she won’t talk. Oh, baby dear! don’t you think you could if you tried? It’s kite easy.”

Baby was lying on the ground out on the lawn, where nurse had spread a nice thick shawl for her in case the grass might be damp, and Mary was sitting beside her, taking care of her for a minute or two all by herself. Nurse had gone in to fetch some more work. Mary was very proud of being trusted with baby. Leigh and Artie were at their lessons.

“Baby dear,” she said again, “don’t you think you could say just some little words if you tried? Nurse would be so pleased when she comes out if she could hear you saying, ‘Dear little sister Mary’ to me!”

She was leaning over baby, and gave her a little kiss. Baby looked up and opened her mouth very wide. Mary could see her little pink tongue, but that was all there was to be seen; and just at that moment there started into Mary’s head what must be the reason that baby could not speak.

“She hasn’t got no teeth!” cried Mary. “She’s opening her mouth wide to show me! Oh, poor little darling baby! Has they been forgotten? The baby at the Lavender Cottages has got teeth!”

Baby did not seem to mind; she lay there smiling quite happily, as if she was pleased that Mary understood her, but Mary felt very unhappy indeed. Something came back into her mind that she had heard about baby’s teeth, but it was a long time ago, and she could not remember it clearly. Was it something about them having been forgotten?

“I’m afraid there’s been a mistook,” said Mary to herself. “Oh, poor baby! A’posing she never can speak! Oh, nurse, nurse, do come; I want to tell you something about poor baby!”

But nurse was still in the house and could not hear Mary calling, and Mary dared not go to fetch her because baby must not be left alone. So she did what most little girls, and little boys too sometimes, do when they’re in trouble, – she began to cry.

“Oh, nurse, nurse!” she wailed through her tears, “do come – oh, do come?”

And though baby could not speak she certainly could hear. She half-rolled herself round at the sound of her sister’s sad sobs and cries, and for a moment or two her own little face puckered up as if she were going to cry too – it is wonderful how soon a tiny baby learns to know if the people about it are in trouble – but then she seemed to change her mind, for she was a very sensible baby. And instead of crying she gave a sort of little gurgling coo that was very sweet, for it said quite plainly that she knew Mary was grieving, and she wanted to be told what it was all about. At first Mary did not hear her, she was so taken up with her own crying. That is the worst of crying; it makes one quite unnoticing of everything else.

Then baby rolled herself still nearer; if only she had understood about catching hold of things, no doubt she would have given Mary a little tug. But she had not learnt that yet. So all she could do was to go on with her cooing till at last Mary heard it. Then the big sister turned round, her poor face all red and wet with her tears; and when she saw baby staring up at her with her sweet, big, baby eyes, and cooing away in her dear little voice, which sounded rather sad, she stooped down and gave her such a hug that, if Dolly had not been really very good-natured, I am afraid her cooing would have been changed into crying.

“Oh, baby, you sweet – you dear little innicent sweet!” said Mary; “you’re too little to understand what I’m crying for. I’m crying ’cos the angels or the fairies has forgotten about your teeth, and I’m afraid you’ll never be able to speak – not all your life, poor baby!”

But baby only cooed louder than before. And Mary, looking up, saw what baby saw too – that nurse was coming over the lawn; and baby’s face broke out into quite a wide smile; she was very fond of nurse.

Poor nurse did not smile when she got close to the two little girls, for she saw that Mary was crying, and she was afraid there was something the matter.

“Have you hurt yourself, Miss Mary?” she said. “Miss Baby’s all right, but what are you crying about?”

“Oh, nurse, I’ve been calling you so,” said Mary, – “calling and calling. I’m so unhappy about baby;” and then she told nurse the sad thought that had come into her mind, and how troubled she was about it.

Nurse listened very gravely, but – would you believe it? – when Mary had finished all her story, what do you think she did? She sat down on the grass and picked up baby in her arms and burst out laughing. I do not think she had laughed so much for a long time.

“Oh, Miss Mary, my dear,” she said, “you are a funny child!”

Mary looked up at her, her face still wet with tears and with a very solemn expression; she did not quite like nurse’s laughing at her when she had been so unhappy.

“I’m not funny,” she said. “It’s very sad for poor baby,” and new tears came into her eyes at the thought that even nurse did not care.

But nurse had left off laughing by this time. “Miss Mary, my dear,” she said, “don’t make a trouble about it. Miss Baby’s teeth will come all in good time. I shouldn’t wonder if she has several dear little pearls in her mouth to show you before Christmas. Don’t you remember that day when we were talking about her teeth, I told you how yours had come, one after the other, and that they used to hurt you sometimes.”

Mary’s face cleared at this.

“Oh, yes,” she said, “I ’amember. Does everybody’s teeth come like that? Doesn’t any babies have them all ready?”

“No,” said nurse; “why, even the Perrys’ baby that’s more than a year old hasn’t got all its teeth yet, and it can’t say many words. Don’t you trouble, Miss Mary, the teeth and the talking will come all right. There now,” as little Dolly looked up with a crow in nurse’s smiling face, “Miss Baby knows all about it, you see!”

Mary put her arms round baby and gave her another big hug.

“Oh, you dear little sweet!” she said. “Oh, nurse, I do think she’s got such lots of things to tell me if only she could speak!”

Baby gave a little chuckle as much as to say, “No fear, I’ll talk fast enough before long;” and Mary, who was rather like an April day, set off laughing so much that she did not hear steps coming along the terrace till a voice said, quite close to her —

“Well, Mary, darling, what are you and baby so merry about?”

It was mamma. Mary looked at her, and then mamma saw that her eyes were red.

“It’s all right now ma’am,” said nurse, for she knew that mamma was wondering what was the matter even though she had not asked; so mamma went on to tell them what she had come out about, for she knew that when Mary had had a fit of crying the tears were rather ready to come back again if anything more was said about her troubles.

“Nurse,” she said, “I want you to dress Miss Mary as quickly as possible after her dinner. I’m going to take her a drive with me – quite a long drive; I’m going to the town to choose a perambulator for baby.”

“Oh, mamma!” said Mary in great delight, “how lovely! And may I get into the p’ram-bilator to see if it’s comfor’ble for baby?”

“Yes,” said mamma, “though a tight fit for you will be all right for baby. And I’ve other things to buy as well! You’ve got a list ready for me, nurse, haven’t you? I’m quite sure the boys need new boots, and wasn’t there something about a sash for Mary?”

“She wouldn’t be the worse for another blue one, ma’am,” said nurse. “Her papa always likes her in blue.”

“Ah! well, I won’t forget about it. I like her in blue best too. And baby – doesn’t she want anything?” asked mamma.

Of course she did, ever so many things. I never knew a baby that did not want a lot of things – or a baby’s nurse perhaps we should say – when there was a chance. Ribbons to tie up its sleeves, and little shoes and tiny socks, and some very fine kind of soap that would not make its soft skin smart, and more things than I can remember. Babies have plenty of wants, though they are such small people. And mamma wrote them all down, saying each aloud as she did so, and Mary stood listening with a very grave face. For she thought to herself, “Just supposing mamma lost the paper or couldn’t read all the pencil words, or forgot to write down everything, it would be a very good thing for her to know them all and ’amind mamma.”

Soon it was time to go in to dinner, and Mary was so full of the thought of going to the town with mamma, that at first she sat with her spoon and fork in her hands, looking at her plate without eating at all.

“Why don’t you eat your dinner, Mary?” said Leigh.

“My nungryness has gone away with thinking of going out with mamma and buyin’ such lotses of things,” said Mary.

“How silly you are!” said Leigh. “Why, when I’ve something nice to think of, it makes me all the hungrier! If you don’t eat your dinner, I don’t believe mamma will take you.”

“Yes, Miss Mary, you must eat it,” said nurse. “You’ll be later than usual of getting your tea, too, so you should make an extra good dinner.”

Mary did not feel as if she could be hungry, but she did not want to be left behind, so she began to try to eat, and after one or two mouthfuls it got rather easier. Nurse went on talking, for she knew the less Mary thought about not being hungry the better it would be.

“Perhaps your mamma, will let you bring home a nice bagful of buns for tea,” she said. “That would be a treat for Master Leigh and Master Artie, to make up for their not going to the town too.”

“I don’t want to go,” said Leigh. “I hate shopping. It’s such rubbish – taking half an hour to choose things you could settle about in half a minute. Of course I suppose it’s different for women and girls.”

Nurse smiled a little.

“Have you nothing for Miss Mary to get for you?” she said.

“What shops are you going to?” asked Leigh.

“Are you going to the confectioner’s?” asked Artie.

Mary was not quite sure what the confectioner’s was. You see, she did not often see shops, as the children’s home was quite in the country. But she knew Leigh would laugh at her if she asked, so she just said —

“We’re going to all the shops there is, I think. We’re going to buy Baby Dolly’s p’ram-bilator.”

She got rather red as she spoke; but Leigh did not notice it, for he was very much interested by this news.

“To buy the p’rambulator,” he repeated. “Oh, I say – I wouldn’t mind going to choose that! But I couldn’t stand the rest of the shopping. Mary – ” and he hesitated.

“What?” said Mary.

“There’s one thing I want, if you think you could choose it for me; it’s a pair of reins. I’ve got money to pay for them – plenty; so you can tell mamma if she’ll pay them in the shop, she can take the money out of my best purse that she keeps for me, when she comes home. They’ll cost about – ” he stopped again, for he really did not know.

“Do you mean red braid ones, Leigh, like my old ones with the bells on?” asked Artie.

“No, of course not. I want regular good strong leather ones – proper ones, d’you hear, Mary?”

“Yes,” said Mary, “I’m listenin’.”

“Well, look here then; they must be of nice brown leather, and you must pull it well to be sure it’s strong. And they must have a kind of front-piece, stiff, you know, that they are fastened to, or perhaps they cross over it, I’m not sure. And they must be about as long as from me, where I’m sitting now, to where Artie is. And if you can’t get them nice in one shop, you must ask mamma to let you go to another, and you mustn’t be in a hurry to just take the first ones they show you. You must choose well, Mary, and – ”

“Don’t take half an hour about it when half a minute would do,” said nurse, in rather an odd voice.

Leigh grew very red.

“Nurse,” he said, “reins are very pertickler things to get. Leather things have to be good, you know.”

“And so have silk things and cotton things and all the other things that ladies take so long to shop about,” said nurse. “But, I’m sure poor dear Miss Mary’s head will never hold all the explaining you’ve been giving her. If you take my advice, Master Leigh, you’ll run off to your mamma and tell her what you want and settle about the price and everything. She will be just finishing luncheon, I should think. It was to be early to-day.”

Leigh thought it a good idea, and did as nurse proposed. Mary was very glad not to have to remember all about the reins; her little head was full enough already. She was looking quite pale with excitement when nurse began to dress her in her best things to go out with her mamma. But it was very interesting to have all her Sunday things on on a week-day, and by the time she was ready – her best boots buttoned and her little white silk gloves drawn on, and her fair curls, nicely brushed, hanging down under her big straw hat, which had white bows and tufty feathers at one side – Mary’s face had grown rosier again.

Chapter Ten.
Shopping

She felt quite happy when she found herself at last settled by mamma’s side in the victoria. She gave a deep sigh – it was a sigh of content – just because she was so happy.

But mamma turned round quickly.

“My darling,” she said, “is there anything the matter? Why are you sighing so?”

Mary cuddled a little bit nearer to mamma, and looked up in her face with a smile.

“I’m quite dreffully happy, mamma dear,” she said. “The breaving comes like that when I’m dreffully happy. But oh, mamma,” she went on, with an anxious look creeping over her face, “I hope we’ll ’amember all the lotses of things there is to buy!”

“I wrote them down, dear,” said mamma. “You saw me?”

“Yes, but doesn’t writing sometimes get rubbed out? I think I can ’amember neely all if you asked me. Did Leigh tell you all about his reins, mamma?”

“Yes, dear. He was very particular indeed. I can’t think what has put reins in his head again. He told me some time ago that he thought he was getting too big for playing at horses. Perhaps it’s to amuse Artie.”

“I wonder,” said Mary, “if p’raps it’s something to do with Fuzzy.”

But her mother did not hear, or at least did not notice what she said. She had taken the paper with the list of things she had to do, out of her bag and was looking it over.

It seemed a long way to the town to Mary. It was between five and six miles, and she had not often driven so far, for you know she was still a very little girl. Now and then her mamma looked at her to see if she was getting sleepy, but every time she seemed quite bright. Her little mind was so full of all the messages they had to do that I don’t think she could have grown sleepy.

And there were a great many pretty and strange and interesting things to notice as they went along. Mamma kept pointing them out to her and talking about them. There were the flowers in the hedges to begin with – some late ones were still in bloom – here and there stray sprays of honeysuckle even, and low down, nearer the ground, there came now and then little glimpses of pretty colours where smaller wild-flowers, such as “ragged robin,” “speedwell,” “crow’s-foot,” and a few others were still peeping out.

“If I were a tiny flower,” said mamma, “I think I would choose my home on the inside of the hedge – the field-side. It would be so hot and dusty near the road.”

But Mary thought it would be nice to see the carriages and carts passing, and that it would be rather dull to see nothing but the grass, and then she and mamma laughed at their funny fancies, as if flowers had eyes and ears like children.

Then they passed a very queer-looking waggon lumbering along. It seemed like a house built of baskets and straw chairs and brushes instead of brick or stone, and Mary’s mamma told her it was a travelling shop, and that the people lived inside and had a little kitchen and a little bedroom, and that sometimes they were quite clean and tidy and nice people. There was a tiny window with a red curtain at the side of the waggon they passed, and Mary saw a little girl, with a nice rosy face, peeping out at her. She nearly jumped when she saw the little girl, and she pulled mamma to make her look.

“See, see, mamma!” she cried. “They must be nice people that lives in that basket shop, mustn’t they, for that little girl’s got a clean face, and she’s smilin’ so sweetly?”

“Yes,” said mamma; “it looks as if she had a kind father and mother, and I hope she has. For many poor children have quite as kind fathers and mothers as rich children have, you know, Mary.”

“Like the Perrys – the Perrys at the Lavender Cottages,” said Mary.

And then she went on thinking to herself how nice it would be to live in a “going-about house,” as she called it. And she wished very much indeed she could have seen inside the waggon.

The next thing they passed after that, was a great high carriage with four horses; a man in a red coat was blowing a horn, and there were ever so many ladies and gentlemen sitting up on the top. It made such a dust! Mary began to think mamma was right about the field-side of the hedges, for even though she was a little girl in a carriage and not a flower, she felt quite choked for a minute. Mamma told her it was a stagecoach, and that long ago, before clever men had found out how to make railway trains go, drawn by steam-engines instead of horses, people were obliged to travel in these big coaches.

Mary was very much surprised. She thought there had always been railways, but mamma had not time to explain any more about them to her, for just then the carriage began to make a very rattling noise over the stones, so that they could scarcely hear each other speak. They were entering the town.

Mary looked about her with great interest. It was a long time since she had been there, and the last day she remembered being driven through the streets it had only been to go to the railway station. For the children and their mother were then on their way to visit their grandmamma. That was six months ago, half a year – before Mary’s birthday, which had brought her the wonderful present of Baby Dolly – a very long time ago.

But Mary remembered how she had wished that day to stop at the shops and look in at the windows. And now she was not only going to look in; she was going to go in to help mamma to choose all the things she had to buy.

It was very nice, but it seemed rather to take away her breath again to think of all they had to do. Mary gave a deep sigh, which made her mamma turn round.

“Mary, my dear, you are looking quite troubled,” she said; “what is it?”

“It’s on’y the lotses of things,” said Mary.

“But you mustn’t be like that, or I shall be afraid to bring you out shopping with me,” said mamma. “It will be all right, you’ll see. Here we are at the first shop – the draper’s. That’s right; give Thomas your hand and get out slowly.”

Thomas was quite ready to have lifted her out, but Mary did not like being lifted. It seemed as if she was a baby. Mamma knew this, and unless she was in a great hurry she let Mary manage for herself like a big girl.

Mary was not like some children, who do not care about any shops except a toy-shop and a confectioner’s; she was interested in all the things mamma had to buy, and she liked to watch the careful way mamma went about it. She had a list all ready, and she had put the same sorts of things together on it, so that she did not need to go backwards and forwards from one counter to another. It was a large shop, but there were not many people in it, so Mary climbed up on a chair and sat there comfortably watching, while mamma chose tape and buttons and reels of cotton and needles, and lots of what are called “small-wares.”

Mary enjoyed seeing them all brought out in their neat boxes and drawers; she thought to herself that she would like very much to have a shop and have all these interesting things to take care of. And then, when they moved a little farther down, to that part of the counter where pretty silks and ribbons were hanging up – silks and ribbons of all sorts of colours and shades – she was still more delighted.

“We are going to choose a sash for you now, Mary,” said mamma.

“And ribbins to tie up Baby Dolly’s sleeves. Weren’t you forgetting about the ribbins?” said Mary.

Mamma had not forgotten, but she did not say so, for she saw her little girl was proud of remembering; and she was pleased too to see that Mary thought of Dolly before herself.

“Yes; of course there are baby’s bows to get,” she said. “Thank you for reminding me. What colour shall they be? Would you like to choose?”

The shopman – I think it was the draper himself, who knew Mary’s mamma and was pleased to wait upon her – smiled as he brought out a large box full of ribbons of the right width for tying up babies’ sleeves. There were so many pretty colours that Mary felt as if she could not choose.

“I’d like some of all of them,” she said.

But mamma helped her by putting aside those that would not do. Yellow would not be pretty for baby, she said, nor green, nor bright red, nor deep blue or purple; and that left only the soft delicate colours – pale pink and pale blue and very pale lilac. There were pretty white ribbons too, with very fine little checks and spots over them, which she said would be very nice.

So then Mary found it easier, and she chose four sets – blue, with a little white line down the edge; and white, with a pink check over it; and another, with tiny blue spots, and one of the pale pinky lilac. It was like wild geranium colour, mamma said, and as Mary did not know what that flower was, mamma promised to look for one in the fields to show her.

Then there came the choosing of Mary’s sashes. Mamma got two, and Mary was quite pleased, for she saw that mamma was the best chooser after all. One was pale blue, very wide, and with a white line down the side. It was just “like the mamma of Dolly’s blue ribbon,” Mary said, and the other was all pink, very pretty pale pink. Mary did not like it quite so well, but still she felt sure it would look nice, or else mamma “wouldn’t have chosened it.”

It would take too long to tell you about all the things mamma bought. After she had finished at the draper’s she went to the shoemaker’s and got boots for the boys and slippers for Mary, and dear sweet little blue silk shoes for Dolly. They were to be her very best ones, to match her blue ribbons. Mary was so pleased that her mamma got them.

After that came the great thing of all – that was the perambulator. There was a man in that town who made pony-carriages, and he made perambulators too. Mamma took Mary into a large room which was all glass at the front, and was quite filled with pony-carriages. They did look so shiny and nice – some of them were wicker, and some were made of wood like big carriages. Mary would have liked to get into them all, one after the other, to see which was the most comfortable, and she could not help thinking how very nice it would be to be a pony-carriage man’s little girl. What lovely games she and Leigh and Artie could have in this big room! It would be even nicer than having a draper’s shop. She did not know that carriage-builders’ children and drapers’ children are not allowed to play with their fathers’ carriages and ribbons any more than she and her brothers would be allowed to pull about the books in the library, or to gather all the fruit and flowers in the garden.

They passed through the big room with the glass front to a smaller one behind, where there were a good many perambulators. The man who had shown them in explained to Mary’s mamma about the different kinds and told her the prices; and mamma chose three which she made the man draw out by themselves in front of all the others.

“It must be one of those,” she said; “I want a really good one, but still rather plain and strong, as it is for the country roads.”

Mary thought to herself what a good way of choosing mamma had; it makes choosing so much easier if you put away the things that won’t do. And while she was thinking this, mamma told her she wanted her to get into the perambulator standing next, and say if it was comfortable.

“I will lift her in,” she said to the man. “It’s quite strong enough, I suppose?”

“Oh, dear, yes, ma’am!” he answered. “It could bear a child twice this little lady’s weight. The springs are fust-rate.”

It was very comfortable, and when Mary jigged up and down a little gently, it felt quite “dancey,” she said.

“It’s the springs,” the man repeated; “they’re fust-rate.”

Mary wondered what “fust-rate” meant. She thought she would ask her mamma. Then she was lifted into the next perambulator – the man lifted her in. He meant to be quite kind, but Mary did not like it, and when at last she found herself on the floor again she stroked down her skirts and gave herself a little shake. Mamma saw that she did not like it, but afterwards she told Mary that sometimes it is best to hide that you do not like things, when they are done out of kindness.

“It didn’t matter to-day,” said mamma, “for the man was busy talking to me and he didn’t see you shaking yourself; but you must remember for another time.”

Mary felt very sorry. She did not forget what her mamma said. Even when she grew to be a big girl she remembered about the man meaning to be kind, and how glad she was he had not seen her shake herself.

The other perambulators were not quite as wide as the first one. Mary said they felt rather squeezy, so mamma fixed on the first one. But it could not be sent home at once because the lining had to be changed. It was brown, and the linings of mamma’s victoria and pony-carriage were dark red, and mamma liked Dolly’s carriage to match. So the man promised it should be ready in two or three days; but Mary looked at it a great deal, because she knew Leigh and Artie would want to know exactly what it was like.

After that they went to the grocer’s, but mamma did not stay long there, and then they went to the toy-shop to get a rattle for baby and reins for Leigh. But neither mamma nor Mary liked the reins much. There were some of red braid, but they were too common, and the leather ones did not seem strong, and they were not made of the right sort of leather; Mary was quite distressed.

“What shall we do?” she said. “Leigh will be so disappointed.” She said the word quite right, but it took her a good while.

Then mamma had a capital thought.

“I know,” she said. “We’ll go to the saddler’s. Even if he hasn’t got any toy-reins ready he can easily make them.”

And fancy – was not it lucky? – the saddler had a pair quite ready – beauties, just like what Leigh wanted. Mamma was so pleased, and so was Mary; though I do not think mamma would have been quite so pleased if she had known what Leigh had in his head about the reins. Then mamma went to the confectioner’s, where she bought some very nice little cakes for Mary to take home for the nursery tea, and, as she thought Mary looked a little tired and must be beginning to feel hungry, she asked for a glass of milk for her and a bun, and then she put Mary on a chair close up to the counter, where she could reach the milk. And then, just as she was going to pay for what she had bought, poor mamma started.

“Oh, dear!” she said, “where is my little bag with my purse in it? I must have left it somewhere; I was carrying so many parcels.”

“Mamma, dear,” said Mary, “you had it at the reins’ shop. I sawed it in your hand.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” said mamma. “Then it’ll be all right. I’ll run back for it. You finish your milk and bun, dear, and I will come for you as quickly as I can.”

Mary did not quite like waiting alone, but she did not want to trouble her mother, so she said, “Very well, mamma dear.”

Her milk and bun did not take long to finish, but she sat on still on the high chair, partly because she thought her mamma would look for her there, partly because she could not get down alone, and she was too shy to ask to be lifted off. But mamma did not come as quickly as Mary hoped, though the time seemed longer to her than it really was.

In a few minutes she heard the door open, and she looked up gladly, thinking it was her mamma; but it was not. Instead of mamma in came a rather fat lady, with two boys and a girl. The lady had a red face, and they all talked very loudly.

“Now, what will you have, my loveys?” said the lady. “Puffs, cheesecakes, macaroons?”

The three children pushed up to the counter and began helping themselves. It was not a large shop, and they crushed against Mary, who was growing very uncomfortable.

“Dear, dear,” said the fat lady, “I am ’ot!” and she fanned herself with her handkerchief. “Haven’t you got a chair for me?”

The shop-woman looked at the girl who had seated herself on the only chair besides Mary’s one.

“I dare say Miss isn’t tired,” she said; “won’t you give the lady your chair?”

But the girl would not move.

“No,” she said; “that child isn’t eating anything. She can give her chair. Put her down, Fred.”