And ‘Oh, mother, mother, do come,’ the child repeated, as she peered through the glass.

There were one or two customers in the shop still.  One of them Celestina knew by sight.  It was Mr. Redding, the organist of the church.  He was choosing some music-paper, and talking as he did so, but the pair of ears behind the window could not hear what he said, though by his manner it seemed something not only of interest to himself but to his hearers also.

‘I wish I could hear what he’s saying,’ thought the little maiden, ’or most of all, I wish he’d go and that other man too—­oh, he’s going, but Mr. Redding is asking for something else now!  Oh, if only mother would come, or if I might turn on the gas higher.  I think it would be nicer to have candles, like Fanny Wells has in her house.  Gas is only nice when it’s very high turned on, and mother says it costs such a lot then.  I do so want to show mother the cloaks and hats.’

She turned back at last, wearied of waiting and watching.  The fire was burning brightly, that was some comfort, and Celestina sat down on the rug in front of it, propping her two little dolls against the fender.

‘To-morrow,’ she said to herself, ’as soon as I’ve made a frock for Eleanor, I’ll have a tea-party.  Eleanor and Amy shall be new friends coming to tea for the first time—­if only the parlour chairs weren’t too big for the table!’ she sighed deeply.  ’They can’t look nice and real, when they’re so high up that their legs won’t go underneath.  People don’t make our tables and chairs like that—­I don’t see why they can’t make doll-house ones properly.  Now, if I was a carpenter I’d make a doll-house just like a real house—­I could make it so nice.’

She began building doll-houses—­her favourite castles in the air—­in imagination.  But now and then she wanted another opinion, there were knotty points to decide.  As ‘all roads,’ according to the old proverb, ‘lead to Rome,’ so all Celestina’s meditations ended in the old cry, ’If only mother would come.’

The door opened at last—­gently, so gently that the little girl knew it could be no one else but mother.  She sprang up.

’Oh, mother, I am so glad you’ve come.  I’ve been so tired waiting.  I do so want to show you the cloaks and hats, and can you give me a bit to make Amy’s frock?  She looks so funny with a cloak and hat and no frock.’

‘I will try to find you a scrap of something when I go upstairs,’ mother replied.  ’But just now I must see about getting tea ready.  Father is tired already, and he has a good deal to do this evening still.  Yes, you have made the cloaks very nice, and the little hats too.  I’ll turn up the gas so as to see better.’