Mother isn't in the least like that. I don't
understand this, and it's tedious!"
"I'm afraid the child has no imagination," said her nurse.
"What a lucky thing!" said her mother.
Nor could Mrs. Ross's house be said to be a place that encouraged
fairies. They would have found the gilt chairs hard to sit upon, and
there were no mysterious corners. There was nothing mysterious at all.
And yet Nancy Ross, sitting in her magnificent clothes, was conscious as
she advanced towards her sixth year that she was not perfectly
comfortable. To say that she felt lonely would be, perhaps, to emphasise
too strongly her discomfort. It was perhaps rather that she felt
inquisitive--only a little, a very little--but she did begin to wish
that she could ask a few questions.
There came a day--an astonishing day--when she felt irritated with her
mother. She had during her walk through the garden seen a little boy and
a little girl, who were grubbing about in a little pile of earth and
sand there in the corner under the trees, and grubbing very happily.
They had dirt upon their faces, but their nurse was sitting, apparently
quite easy in her mind, and the sun had not stopped in its course nor
had the birds upon the trees ceased to sing.
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