"Wot it may be, my lordship," replied the girl, her politeness becoming Arctic, "is one thing--wot it is, is another." "You are a clever little girl," said Aaron, smiling and rubbing his hands, "a sharp, clever little girl." "Thank yer for nothink," said the girl. She had reached the North Pole; it was necessary to thaw her. "Upon the mantelshelf," said Aaron, "just behind that beautiful blue vase, are two penny pieces. Step on a chair--not that cane one, you'll go through it; the wooden one--and see if you can find them." "I see 'em," said the girl, looking down upon Aaron in more senses than one. "They are yours. Put them in your pocket." The girl clutched the pennies, jumped from the chair--whereat the baby crowed, supposing it to be a game provided for her amusement--and having no pocket, held the money tight in her hand. Visions of sweetstuff rose before her. The pennies getting warm, the ice in the North Pole began to melt. But there was a doubt in the girl's mind; the adventure was almost too good to be true. "Yer don't get 'em back," she said; "stow larks, yer know." "I don't want them back. And now, perhaps, you will tell me your name." "Prissy. That's the short 'un." "The long one is----" "Priscilla." "A grand name. You ought to have a silk gown, and satin shoes, and a gold comb." Prissy opened her eyes very wide. The ice was melting quickly, and the buds were coming on the trees. "And baby's name?" "Wictoria Rejiner. That's grander, ain't it?" "Much grander. Victoria Regina--a little queen!" Prissy gave baby a kiss, with pride and love in her glittering eyes. "What makes your face so black, Prissy?" "Coals. Aunty deals in 'em, and ginger-beer, and bundles of wood, and cabbages, and taters, and oranges, and lemons. And she takes in washing." "You look, Prissy, as if you had very little to eat." So genial was Aaron Cohen's voice that spring was coming on fast. "I don't 'ave much," said Prissy, with a longing sigh. "I could eat all day and night if I 'ad the chance." "My dear," said Aaron to his wife, "there is some coffee left in the pot. Do you like coffee, Prissy?" "Do I like corfey? Don't I like corfey! Oh no--not me! Jest you try me!" "I will. Give me Victoria Regina. Poke the fire. That's right; you are the quickest, sharpest little girl in my acquaintance. Pour some water from the kettle into the coffee-pot. Set it on the fire. Rachel, my dear, take Prissy and baby into the kitchen and let them wash themselves, and afterwards they shall have some supper." The buds were breaking into blossom; it really was a lovely spring.