Barbara was looking puzzled. 'I don't think I know what you mean,' she said. 'Do you mean that I _must_ be either me or--or Jill?'
'Well, supposing we put it that way,' replied Mrs. Crofton, smiling again. 'Which do you choose to be?'
Barbara did not stop to think about it. 'I don't want to be either, thank you,' she said decidedly. 'I would _much_ rather be like you or father.'
Mr. Berkeley chuckled once more, and his sister struck her cane on the ground and laughed heartily. 'A pretty mess you've made of your daughter's education, I must say,' she remarked. Then she turned again to Babs. 'Well, child, I see you are going to be like your father in any case; and as for me--well, we'll see if we can't prevent such a terrible result as that. And now, I want you to pretend that I am a fairy godmother. Do you think you can?'
Barbara nodded, and her small black eyes glistened. It was not difficult to do that. Already the bonnet with the pink feathers had turned into a steeple-hat, and the black silk mantle into a scarlet cloak, and the blue-knobbed cane into a broomstick. The little impish face was aglow with delight as the old lady went on:
'Now, I've just come down the chimney with a bang, and I am going to give my goddaughter the wish that she wishes most in all the world. But mind--if I have a suspicion that what she asks for is not what she really wants--bang! up the chimney I go again!'
Barbara took a flying leap into the middle of the room, and spun round with her favourite movement on the tips of her toes. Her heart was thumping wildly with excitement at finding herself in the middle of a real fairy story; and when she at last stood still again, she was almost too breathless to speak.
[Illustration: 'May I--may I have all that?']
'Please,' she said, clasping her hands tightly together, 'I want to go to school, a real girls' school, where there are crowds of girls, and crowds of lessons, and crowds of story-books with nice endings, and crowds of awfully jolly games that don't pull your hair about and don't give you bruises. May I--may I have all that?'
Auntie Anna once more struck her cane upon the ground. 'That shows how much you know about your own daughter, Everard!' she said, which was a remark that Barbara never understood. 'You may have all that, little goddaughter, every bit of it!' she announced to the expectant child; 'and what is more, you shall have it in a week's time. Hey-day! Where are you off to in such a hurry, if you please, and why am I allowed a kiss all at once, eh? It isn't a birthday, is it?'