"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?"
"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.
"When you speak in that softy, sympathisy voice, I feel that I could just hug you," said Penelope.
"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."
"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."
She marched away in her usual stalwart fashion.
"I may have to take her with me," thought Pauline again. "If the others won't be bribed, I must fall back on her."
She felt a curious sense of relief, for of course Penelope could be bribed. A shilling would do it. Penelope would go to the end of the earth for a shilling, particularly if it was given to her all in pence. Twelve separate pence would send Penelope off her head.
