Mrs. Conwell, after clasping her handsome fur collar--or tippet, as it
was called--over the velvet mantle which was the fashion in those days,
and surveying in the mirror the nodding plumes of her bonnet of royal
purple hue, took up the muff and went away.
"A great girl!" grumbled Annie, as she watched the lady out of sight.
"She always says that when she is displeased. 'Going on ten years of
age!' It is true, of course; but, then, I was only nine last month.
At other times, when persons ask me how old I am, if I answer 'Most
ten,' mother is sure to laugh and say, 'Annie's just past nine.' It
makes me so mad!"
There was no use in standing idly thinking about it though, especially
as nothing of interest was occurring in the street just then; so Annie
turned away and began to wonder what she should do to amuse herself.
In the "best china closet" was a delicious cake. She had discovered
that the key of the inner cupboard, where it was locked up, was kept in
the blue vase on the dining-room mantel. She had been several times
"just to take a peep at the cake," she said to herself.
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