"But, all the same, you
know, Bebee, things off a dead body bring mischance sometimes."
But Bebee danced with the child, and did not hear.
Whose fete day had ever begun like this one of hers?
She was a little poet at heart, and should not have cared for such
vanities; but when one is only sixteen, and has only a little rough
woollen frock, and sits in the market place or the lace-room, with other
girls around, how should one be altogether indifferent to a broad,
embossed, beautiful shield of silver that sparkled with each step one
took?
A quarter of an hour idle thus was all, however, that Bebee or her
friends could spare at five o'clock on a summer morning, when the city
was waiting for its eggs, its honey, its flowers, its cream, and its
butter, and Tambour was shaking his leather harness in impatience to be
off with his milk-cans.
So Bebee, all holiday though it was, and heroine though she felt herself,
ran indoors, put up her cakes and cherries, cut her two basketfuls out of
the garden, locked her hut, and went on her quick and happy little feet
along the grassy paths toward the city.
Pages:
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41