"
"Good!" said David, and then added persuasively: "But you will play
for me some time: won't you? I've a curious desire to see you do
it."
"Perhaps I'll try," replied Christie, flattered by his interest, and
not unwilling to display her little talent.
"Who are you making that for? it's very pretty," asked David, who
seemed to be in an inquiring frame of mind that day.
"Any one who wants it. I only do it for the pleasure: I always liked
pretty things; but, since I have lived among flowers and natural
people, I seem to care more than ever for beauty of all kinds, and
love to make it if I can without stopping for any reason but the
satisfaction."
"'Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, "'Then beauty
is its own excuse for being,'" observed David, who had a weakness
for poetry, and, finding she liked his sort, quoted to Christie
almost as freely as to himself.
"Exactly, so look at that and enjoy it," and she pointed to the
child standing knee-deep in graceful ferns, looking as if she grew
there, a living buttercup, with her buff frock off at one plump
shoulder and her bright hair shining in the sun.
Before David could express his admiration, the little picture was
spoilt; for Christie called out, "Come, Vic, bring me some more
pretties!" startling baby so that she lost her balance, and
disappeared with a muffled cry, leaving nothing to be seen but a
pair of small convulsive shoes, soles uppermost, among the brakes.
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