by present in Verena's keeping, and was now, as she
expressed it, taking the air. When she saw Pauline she ran to meet her.

"I suppose you are feeling yourself monstrous 'portant, and all that sort
of thing," she said.

"No, I am not," said Pauline.

Penelope gave her a quick glance out of her sharp eyes.

"Does you like me to be nursery or schoolroom child?" she asked.

"Oh, I like you to be just what you are, Pen; and I do beg of you not to
worry me just now."

"You is most ungrateful. I has been spending my teeny bit of money on
you. You will know what I has done on your birthday. You are going to get
a most 'licious present, and it will be I who has gived it to you.
Sometimes I does wish I was two years older; but Aunt Sophy has got
monstrous fond of me, Paulie, and of you, too. I know it. Shall I tell
you how I know it?"

"How?" asked Pauline.

"I was standing near her when you said you wouldn't go for a drive, and
she gave a big sigh, just as though she was hurted. I was hurted, too,
for I thought I might perhaps sit on the little back-seat and hear more'n
is good for me. People always say that little girls like me hear more'n
is good for them. I love--I love hearing things of that wicked sort.
Well, you didn't go, and I couldn't have my nice drive on the little
back-seat. But Aunt Sophy did give a pained sigh. She loves you, does
Aunt Sophy. She loves me, too."

"Do you love me, Pen?" said Pauline suddenly, for it occurred to her that
perhaps Penelope was the child who would have to accompany her to the
midnight picnic. She knew enough of Penelope to be sure that she could be
bribed. She was not so certain about the others.

"Do you love me, Pen?" she repeated.

"When you speak in that softy, sympathisy voice, I feel that I could just
hug you," said Penelope.

"Then would you really help me?"

"Really and really. What am I to do? If you will whisper secrets to me, I
will even forget that I am certain you know something most 'portant about
that thimble, and I will cling to you like anything. You will be the oak,
and I will be the ivy. It will be most lovely to be the close friend of
the birthday queen. I do--oh, I do hope you are going to tell me a great
secret!"

"Perhaps I am, but I can't tell you now."

"When will you tell me?"

"If I ever tell you, it will be before midday on my birthday. Now run
away. Don't whisper a word of this."

"Not me," said Penelope. "I was borned to keep secrets