“It is quite useless,” the Aunt was sternly beginning—then suddenly her voice changed. “Is the cur really valuable?” she asked.
“Uncle Reggie gave five guineas for him when he was a baby boy,” said Judy eagerly, “and he’s worth much more now.”
“But he must be very old—when your Uncle Reggie was a boy”
“I mean when Alcibiades was a boy.”
“And who is Alcibiades?”
Judy began all over again, and urged one or two new points.
“I don’t want to be harsh,” said the Aunt at last, “you shall have the little breakfast room to paint and carve in as you suggest. Of course I couldn’t have shavings and paint pots lying about all over the dining-room and drawing-room. And you shall keep your cur.”
“Oh, Aunty,” cried Judy, “you are a darling!”
“Yes,” the Aunt went on complacently, “you shall keep your cur till the bazaar, and then we will sell it for the benefit of the Fund for the Amelioration of the Daughters of the Country Clergy.”
And from this decision no tears and no entreaties would move her.
