'
'And you,' he replied, as though he were a grande personne, 'have got
hair like a mist of fire. It will never go out!'
'Every one will love me now,' she cried, 'my underneath is gold.'
But her brother reproved her neatly:--
'Let's get a lot--simply an awful lot'--he made a grimace to signify
quantity--'and pour it over Daddy's head till it runs from his eyes
and beard. He'll write real fairy stories then and make a fortune.'
And Cousin Henry moved past them like a burning torch. They held their
breath to see him. Jane Anne, their busy sister, alone excelled him in
brightness. Her perfume, too, was sweeter.
'He's an old hand at this game,' Monkey said in French.
'But Jinny's never done anything else since she was born,' replied her
brother proudly.
And they all three fell to collecting, for it seemed the law of the
place, a kind of gravity none could disobey. They stooped--three semi-
circles of tender brilliance. Each lost the least desire to gather for
himself; the needs of others drove them, filled them, made them eager
and energetic.
'Riquette would like a bit,' cried Jimbo, almost balancing on his head
in his efforts to get it all at once, while Monkey's shining fingers
stuffed her blouse and skirts with sheaves of golden gossamer that
later she meant to spread in a sheet upon the pillow of Mademoiselle
Lemaire.
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