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To hide my disappointment for I do want to look my best to-morrow, and then everybody has taken so much pains -I bent over Joy, tying and untying the ribbons that held the rings of soft hair in front of her ears. "Thop, Cothin Nelly; you hurt!" she screamed. As soon as I could, I ran to take off the dress. How could Aunt so parade me? Of course the women Mr.
I believe it's just one of your jokes," sputtered Aunt. "Nelly, dear, turn slowly round." She had dropped on her knees beside me, busy with pins and folds, and Joy was lisping the caution, born perhaps of experience, "Don't you thoil it, Cothin Nelly, or Nurthey'll vip you," when Milly came into the library; and with her was Mr. Hynes. "Lovely! Isn't it, Ned?" cried Milly. "It's for to-morrow."
I could have hugged Boy, who lay curled on the hearth, deep in the adventures of Mowgli and the Wolf Brethren. I did hug little Joy, who climbed into my lap, lisping, as she does every night: "Thing, Cothin Nelly." I looked shyly at Mr. Hynes, who had stooped to pat the cat that purred against his leg, muttering something about a "fine animal."
Her incoherence vanished as she grasped at a practical consideration. "But let Milly take you up stairs and get your things off," she said with an air as of one who solves problems. "Are you truly Cothin Nelly?" Joy lisped. "All wight; come thee my twee." Though she couldn't recognise me as the cousin of a few weeks earlier, the child was eager to claim me as a new friend.
Joy begged in vain for her nightly lullaby. I couldn't respond to her "Thing, Cothin Nelly!" I'd never before noticed how like she is to her sisters. With her snubby nose and her yellow braids, she'll grow into just another white-faced doll as Milly. Miss Baker talked persistently about Bermuda; as if my exile had ever been a possibility!
I knew I begin to understand him so well just how he felt the charm of everything. "Thing," Joy insisted, putting up a baby hand until it touched my cheek and twined itself in my hair, "Thing, Cothin Nelly." And I crooned while breathlessly all in the room listened: "Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the Western sea
John was wrong and yet not wrong about the photographer; his threatened interposition came to nothing, for the very next morning only yesterday, long ago as it seems I was enlightened as to the cheap and silly trick that had been played upon me. "Thee, Cothin Nelly; pwetty, pwetty!" cried Joy, running towards me and holding up a huge poster picture from the Sunday Echo.
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