doll, miss, that I did. Thank you, miss. And thank you, ma’am,”—turning and making an alarmed bob to Miss Minchin— “for letting me take the liberty.”
Miss Minchin waved her hand again—this time it was in the direction of the corner near the door.
“Go and stand there,” she commanded. “Not too near the young ladies.”
Becky went to her place, grinning. She did not care where she was sent, so that she might have the luck of being inside the room, instead of being downstairs in the scullery, while
of her slim body, and the dramatic movement of her hands. She forgot that she was talking to listening children; she saw and lived with the fairy folk, or the kings and queens and beautiful ladies, whose adventures she was narrating. Sometimes when she had finished her story, she was quite out of breath