"I must hunt 'em up," he returned, absently. "They used to be regular
little devils. It's a shame for them to have all that money."

"Why?"

"Because they'll waste it. They don't know how to use it."

"Perhaps they do, in a way. One Fourth of July they gave every orphan in
the Orphans' Home two dollars' worth of fireworks. Anybody else would
have wasted the money on shoes, or hats."

"I see you haven't grown up. Would you rather have fireworks than
clothes?"

"There is a time in life when one sky-rocket can give more pleasure than
a pair of shoes, and the gift of pleasure is the finest gift in the
world."

Allison was agreeably surprised, for hitherto Isabel's conversation had
consisted mainly of monosyllables and platitudes, or the hesitating echo
of someone's else opinion. Now he perceived that it was shyness; that
Isabel had a mind of her own, and an unusual mind, at that. He looked at
her quickly and the colour bloomed upon her pale, cold face.

"Tell me, little playmate, what have the years done for you since you
went out and pulled up the rose bushes to find the scent bottles?"

"Nothing," she answered, not knowing what else to say.

"Still looking for the unattainable?"