“Who’s a bad penny?” And taking the plump cheeks between her palms, she squeezed the serene features into all manner of grotesque and rapidly-changing shapes. “Who’s a bad penny? Isn’t she a beauty?” said she, twisting the now unresisting head so as to give the Don a full view of the streaming eyes and ludicrously projecting lips. “Behold those æsthetic lines! Ladies and gentlemen,” said she, turning, with a quick movement, her mother’s face in the opposite direction, “I call your attention to the Cupid’s bow so plainly discernible in the curves of that upper lip. Can you wonder that papa is a slave? By the way,” continued she in the same breath, and taking no heed of the general hilarity that she had aroused,—“by the way, Mr. Don, are _you_ glad to see me?” But without waiting for him to find words to reply, a quizzical look came into her face as she observed that with the beat of her mother’s laughter her own person was gently bobbing up and down, as though she rode a pacing horse: “Snow-bird on de ash-bank, snow-bird on de ash-bank, snow-bird on de ash-bank,” she began, in a sort of Runic rhythm, or shall we say in jig measure? “snow-bird on de ash-bank;” and from her curving wrists, drawn close together in front of her bosom, her limp hands swung and tossed, keeping time, jingling like muffled bells. The pacing horse now broke into a canter, and the canter became a gallop: “Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross, ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross! This steed is about to run away; discretion is the better part.” And springing from her mother’s lap, she stood before the Don. “Have you prepared your answer yet? Are _you_ glad to see me once more?” The Don put his hand upon his heart. Alice extended hers. The Don took it. “You have not answered my question.” “Words cannot ex—” “Words? Who is talking about words?” And she extended her hand again. “Press that lily fair,—just one little squeeze. She—the rotund smiler—won’t be able to see for half a minute yet. Quick! She is wiping her eyes! Ah! ah! ah! Really and truly? Enough! Desist! We are observed!” “She is the girl to tackle him!” thought Charley, wiping _his_ eyes. CHAPTER XLIX.