Page:I, Mary MacLane (1917).pdf/233

 mon opposite, and conversed and were quietly happy. You were maternal and the child was a mature old-fashioned yet childish innocent child.'

My little sister—sweet—long gone— Would that I had her now!

Said I: 'Tell me what we said.'

Said the Soul: 'You said to her, "Our poverty and even our deprivations, dearest, which for your sake I feel deeply would not matter, not the least, to me if I could see you well and strong." And the child replied, "Sweet, just to rest like this in your arms each twilight makes me rich, rich—as rich as the smartest ladies in Piccadilly." And you said, "Rich reminds me, Darling, we shall have four extra shillings—four bright silver shillings—at the end of this week from the book-seller. So what shall we purchase for a treat? There'll be, if you like, prawns and crumpets for tea, for days to come—or if my Child prefers oranges or pineapples once—" And the child replied with her cheeks quite pink at the thought, "O Sister-love, let us have the pines, just one day, and let us make-believe to be ladies that day, and comport ourselves like ladies, and take our tea—all like ladies." And you pressed her close to your breast—you both wore caps and kerchiefs and stuff-gowns in the fashion of the lower-middle artisan class—and showered gentle kisses on her