IT did seem very unjust, and the more they thought of it the more unjust it seemed, especially to Priscilla.  
“When I had a tooth pulled out no one gave me anything,” she ; “but Loveday has a shilling given her for hers, and some sweets, and such a fuss made.”
 
“I only had sixpence, and mine was a double tooth,” said Geoffrey thoughtfully, “and I am a boy.”
 
“I don’t see that being a boy ought to make any difference,” retorted Priscilla; “boys’ teeth don’t hurt more than girls’, and boys ought to be able to bear it better.”
 
“Oh, but boys always have more in—in comparison, just as men do.”
 
“Do they?” asked Priscilla thoughtfully. “I wonder why? I think it ought to be just the other way, ’cause boys and men are stronger.”
 
“Oh, you’ll understand some day,” said Geoffrey loftily; “you are too young now.”
 
There had been great excitement in the house that afternoon. Loveday had been having toothache frequently for some time. Whenever she drank anything hot or cold, or ate anything sweet, or put a in her mouth, her tooth had begun to jump and ache; and as she was generally doing one or the other, or wanting to, Loveday’s life lately had not been a bed of roses, any more than had the lives of those who had to relieve her pain and stop her . So at last her father had that the tooth must go. It was slightly loose already and decayed, and Loveday was assured that she would know no comfort while it remained in her mouth; but if it was taken away another would soon grow, they told her, and she was promised some sweets and a shilling when the operation was over, if she bore it bravely.
 
Loveday had to think the matter over a little before she gave her consent, for though she hated having pain and not being allowed to eat sweets, she did like to have a wobbly tooth, one that she could move with her tongue, and she had hoped that if she waited a little while it would not hurt her when it wobbled.
 
But her father told her that that was very unlikely, and that if she did not have it taken out now it would fall out some day soon, perhaps while she was asleep, and then there would be danger of its choking her.
 
“If it felled out should I have a shilling and sweets, father?” she asked.
 
But father, without any , said:
 
“Oh dear, no—certainly not.”
 
So Loveday consented to the operation. She wanted the shilling to buy a paint-box with, and she wanted to see the tooth.
 
Then began a great . One servant ran for a tumbler of warm water, and another for a towel and different things, and they looked at Loveday so pityingly that she began to wonder if it would be very dreadful after all, and grew quite frightened. Then her father came in, and perched her on the table, and told her to open her mouth and let him see which tooth it was; and before she knew he had even seen which was the right one, she felt a little tweak, and it was out! She did not cry, for as soon as the pain began it was over, before she could even make a sound, or screw out a tear; and then, when she realised what had happened, every one was petting and praising her, and calling her a brave little heroine, and Nurse gave her a box of chocolates, and her father gave her a shilling, and her mother an extra penny because she had not made any noise. Priscilla thought it the easiest and quickest way of earning pocket-money that she had ever dreamed of—much easier than or pulling weeds.
 
The extraction itself was far too quickly over to please Geoffrey and Priscilla, who had been by the table, looking on. Priscilla had covered her ears that she might not hear Loveday’s screams, and, after all, Loveday had not screamed; and having closed her eyes too—for when it came to the most exciting moment she felt she could not look—Priscilla had missed everything, and when she unstopped one ear a little to hear if the screams had begun, she heard Loveday saying quite calmly:
 
“Thank you. Now I want my paint-box. Geoffrey, go and buy it for me at once, please.”
 
And when Priscilla looked, Loveday was proudly handing to Geoffrey the new shilling she had just earned.
 
It had been arranged beforehand that if she won it, Geoffrey should run at once and buy her a box of paints with it.
 
So, finding that all the excitement was over, Priscilla decided to go with Geoffrey to buy the paints, and it was while they were on their way to the shop that the sense of began to grow in her small breast, and it grew and grew until, as she stood in Miss Potts’ toy-shop and gazed about her, she felt that at least two of the toys she saw there were hers by right, for she had had out two teeth, and one had hurt her very much. Geoffrey had not, of course, such deep cause of complaint, for he had accepted the sixpence gladly, and if he did not stick out for more at the time he could not very well say anything now.
 
“And what kind of paints is it you want, Master Geoffrey?” asked Miss Potts pleasantly when he had told her what he had come for.
 
Most of her customers—and they were not numerous—were penny-toy customers, so she was very anxious to oblige her larger purchasers when she did get any. Not but what she was polite and kind to every one who entered her little shop; she did not know how to be anything else.
 
“It’s a shilling box I want, please,” said Geoffrey, as though such a purchase was quite a small matter to him, and in his pocket all the while the shilling and a French halfpenny of his own. “I want Sans Poison, please,” he added—he pronounced it in the English way, so that it sounded like “Sands Poison”—“because then Loveday can’t harm herself if she swallows some. She always will lick her brush, and it’s no use trying to stop her.”
 
Miss Potts, in common with the children, felt the greatest respect and faith in that mysterious person “Sans,” who, according to their belief, had discovered how to make paints that any child might swallow and not die.
 
“I’d never buy anybody else’s for Miss Loveday, if I were you, sir,” said Miss Potts solemnly. “You see, he guarantees them harmless, and we have proved them to be so, and ’tisn’t likely that now he’s made his reputation he’d risk it by selling others. But there’s no knowing what other folks will put in theirs; I wouldn’t trust them.”
 
Geoffrey agreed gravely, while he examined the box to see that the brushes and saucers were in perfect order. He was five years older than Loveday, and felt at least twenty.
 
Priscilla, who had been wandering about the shop, eagerly examining its treasures, came up to the counter.
 
“Miss Potts,” she asked very gravely, “don’t you think that if a double tooth is worth a shilling, a single one is worth sixpence?”
 
“I dare say you’re right, dearie,” said Miss Potts , “but I never found mine worth anything, not even for chewing.”
 
“Did you have some once?” asked Priscilla, in genuine . The question was excusable, for she had never seen Miss Potts with even one.
 
Miss Potts, quite unembarrassed, laughed good-temperedly.
 
“Why, yes, dearie, of course I had; but I was glad enough to get rid of them, I can assure you.”
 
“So should I be if I could get a shilling for each;” and Priscilla began to count her teeth, to find out what wealth might be hers. “Do you think I shall have none some day?” she asked eagerly.
 
“Oh dear no, missie; I don’t suppose so. You’ll be looked after too well for that.”
 
Priscilla grew thoughtful.
 
“I do think, though, that two teeth ought to be worth a—a——”
 
She looked around the shop to see what she could choose out of all that was there. It was very difficult, and Geoffrey, having finished examining a top that had caught his fancy, began to grow impatient.
 
“Come along, Prissy,” he said impatiently; “you know Loveday will be waiting for us,” and he strolled to the door.
 
“I shall ask father if I may have a hoop,” said Priscilla to Miss Potts. “I don’t think that’s too much. There were two teeth, and both hurt a lot, and oh, how they bled! You never saw such a thing! Much more than Loveday’s! But every one pets Loveday so,” she added, in a tone, “because she is the youngest. They always say, ‘Ah, but she is the baby!’ But she isn’t; she is nearly seven years old, and babies aren’t babies when they are as old as that, are they?”
 
“Well, dear, you see folks always think a lot of the youngest,” said Miss Potts gently.
 
Priscilla nodded her head very soberly.
 
“They do!” she said gravely, “and of the , too, I think. Yesterday when granny gave Geoffrey a book and didn’t give me one, she said it was given to Geoffrey because he was the eldest. I don’t think it is very nice to be an in-between, do you, Miss Potts?”
 
“I don’t know, dear,” said Miss Potts, with a deep sigh. “I’d be glad to be anything if only I’d got some brothers and sisters.”
 
“Miss Potts, didn’t you ever have any?” Priscilla was standing at the end of the counter, gazing up at the tall, thin woman behind it. Miss Potts was certainly a very interesting person, she thought—so much seemed to have happened in her life. Miss Potts shook her head, and passed her hand across her eyes.
 
“I had them, Miss Priscilla,” she said softly, “but I’m the only one left.”
 
“I am very sorry,” said Priscilla, in a tone of sympathy. “It must be dreadfully sad for you; I hope you didn’t mind my asking.” Then, after a moment’s pause, “I’ll be your sister, if you would like me to, Miss Potts. Of course, I couldn’t live with you always, but——”
 
“I wonder what your pa and ma would say to that, dear,” said Miss Potts, half laughing, half crying. “It is very kind of you to think of it, I’m sure, but I reckon you’ve got brothers and sisters enough already.”
 
“Well, anyhow I can come in very often to see you. That will make it seem a little less lonely, won’t it? And— Oh, there’s Geoffrey running away. I must go, because I want to see Loveday unwrap her paint-box. I wonder if she will let me use it too. I think she might, considering. There are two brushes, aren’t there? and she can’t use both at once. Good-bye, Miss Potts. I will come again soon. O Geoffrey, you are mean! You might as well wait, when you know I am hurrying as fast as ever I can.”