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Such a straightforward question was rather a puzzler to Clorinda, so she answered with a stately air: "Der's questions I couldn't answer eben ter my most intemancies don't press it, Victy."
Clo grew radiant with delight, but she worked away resolutely, only observing: "Victy, dar's a leetle cranberry tart I jis' tuk out ob de oben it's on de kitchen table I 'spect we might as well eat it, cause 'taint big enough to go on de table." "I'll fotch it," cried Dolf; "to sarve de fair is my priv'lege."
"Yes, missis," she repeated, with the firmness of a person who meant what she said, and was fully prepared to defend her opinion. "What's come over her?" asked Vic. "Dat's jis' it," returned Clo; "now you've hit it prezact yer might talk a week, Victy, and not come inter de pint agin."
Then Victoria brought her a quantity of flowers Dolf had cut in the greenhouse, and she strewed the fragrant blossoms over her dress and wreathed them in her hair, making a beautiful picture of herself in her rich wrappings and delicate loveliness. "Now we will have tea," she said, "bring all sorts of nice things, Victy." "Yes, 'deed. I will, Miss! Clo she's ben a fixin' fur yer!
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