She could
almost hear the bright challenging tone as Rhoda would say: 'Now,
Atlantic, let us see what we can do! Cut off the chewed edges with
these scissors, paste these thin pieces of paper over the torn
places, and rub the card with this crust of bread. A new one?
Certainly NOT, my young friend!'
Lisa took the poor little object in her hand, and, seeing Mistress
Mary's white apron, pressed her cheek against it in a transport of
tenderness and hung it over her arm. Just then she caught sight of
the clay bird's-nest that Pacific had modelled--such a lovely bird's-
nest that it had been kept for the cabinet. She carried her
treasures over to the old-fashioned lounge where the babies took
their occasional nap, put them carefully in a small red chair close
beside it, and then, stretching her weary length on the cushions, she
kissed the smooth folds of the apron, and clasped it in her arms.
Mistress Mary would come soon. She would come in her cloud of white,
and her steel fillet would gleam and shine when the sunshine fell
upon it, and make star-rays and moonbeams and lightning-flashes; and
the tiny points would twinkle and wink and laugh and blink whenever
she turned her head. She would smile, and everything would suddenly
be clear; she would speak, and the weary buzzing of windmills in the
brain would be hushed.
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