onship
without knowing it. Perhaps, though mother said little, she understood
more about it than appeared.

And 'Oh, mother, mother, _do_ come,' the child repeated, as she peered
through the glass.

There were one or two customers in the shop still. One of them Celestina
knew by sight. It was Mr. Redding, the organist of the church. He was
choosing some music-paper, and talking as he did so, but the pair of
ears behind the window could not hear what he said, though by his manner
it seemed something not only of interest to himself but to his hearers
also.

'I wish I could hear what he's saying,' thought the little maiden, 'or
most of all, I _wish_ he'd go and that other man too--oh, he's going,
but Mr. Redding is asking for something else now! Oh, if only mother
would come, or if I might turn on the gas higher. I think it would be
nicer to have candles, like Fanny Wells has in her house. Gas is only
nice when it's very high turned on, and mother says it costs such a lot
then. I _do_ so want to show mother the cloaks and hats.'

She turned back at last, wearied of waiting and watching. The fire was
burning brightly, that was some comfort, and Celestina sat down on the
rug in front of it, propping her two little dolls against the fender.

'To-morrow,' she said to herself, 'as soon as I've made a frock for
Eleanor, I'll have a tea-party. Eleanor and Amy shall be new friends
coming to tea for the first time--if _only_ the parlour chairs weren't
too big for the table!' she sighed deeply. 'They can't look nice and
_real_, when they're so high up that their legs won't go underneath.
People don't make our tables and chairs like that--I don't see why they
can't make doll-house ones properly. Now, if I was a carpenter I'd make
a doll-house just like a real house--I could make it so nice.'

She began building doll-houses--her favourite castles in the air--in
imagination. But now and then she wanted another opinion, there were
knotty points to decide. As 'all roads,' according to the old proverb,
'lead to Rome,' so all Celestina's meditations ended in the old cry, 'If
only mother would come.'

The door opened at last--gently, so gently that the little girl knew it
could be no one else but mother. She sprang up.

'Oh, mother, I am so glad you've come. I've been so tired waiting. I do
so want to show you the cloaks and hats, and _can_ you give me a bit to
make Amy's frock? She looks so funny with a cloak and hat and no frock.