“There, my Cinderella dear,” said the old man in a whisper, and with a worn-out look, “the basket’s full now. Bless you! And get you gone!”
“Don’t call me your Cinderella dear,” returned Miss Wren. “O you cruel godmother!”
She shook that emphatic little forefinger of hers in his face at parting, as earnestly and reproachfully as she had ever shaken it at her grim old child at home.
“You are not the godmother at all!” said she. “You are the Wolf in the Forest, the wicked Wolf! And if ever my dear Lizzie is sold and betrayed, I shall know who sold and betrayed her!”
Mr. Wegg Prepares a Grindstone for Mr. Boffin’s Nose