"
"What do you mean, child?" said his mother.
"She had rings on her fingers, anyhow," returned Diamond.
"Of course she had, as any lady would. What has that to do
with it?"
"When we were down at Sandwich," said Diamond, "you said
you would have to part with your mother's ring, now we were
poor."
"Bless the child; he forgets nothing," said his mother.
"Really, Diamond, a body would need to mind what they say to
you."
"Why?" said Diamond. "I only think about it."
"That's just why," said the mother.
"Why is that why?" persisted Diamond, for he had not yet
learned that grown-up people are not often so much grown up that
they never talk like children -- and spoilt ones too.
"Mrs. Coleman is none so poor as all that yet. No, thank
Heaven! she's not come to that."
"Is it a great disgrace to be poor?" asked Diamond, because
of the tone in which his mother had spoken.
But his mother, whether conscience-stricken I do not know
hurried him away to bed, where after various attempts to
understand her, resumed and resumed again in spite of invading
sleep, he was conquered at last, and gave in, murmuring over and
over to himself, "Why is why?" but getting no answer to the
question.
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