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Through an open window overhead came the sound of cheerful high voices, and little Fay started to sing at the top of her strong treble: Thlee mice went into a hole to spin, Puss came by, and puss peeped in; What are you doing, my littoo old men? We're weaving coats for gentoomen. "Is that what I've been doing?" thought Jan. "Weaving coats of many colours out of happy dreams?"
Jan and Meg, who wanted desperately to laugh, tried hard to look shocked, and Meg asked, "What on earth possessed you to do such a thing?" "Tony's head so shiny and smoove." Tony rubbed the shiny head ruefully. "Can't I do nuffin to her?" he demanded. "No," his sister answered firmly, "loo can't, 'cos I'm plitty littoo Fay." "Can't I plop some on her head?" he persisted.
He tried to get out of his high chair, exclaiming angrily, "Let me get at her to box her!" Jan held him down with one hand while she wiped away the offending mess with the other, and all the time Tony cried in crescendo, "Let me get at her!" Little Fay, quite unmoved, continued to eat her porridge with studied elegance, and in gently reproachful tones remarked, "Tony velly closs littoo boy."
"I should think," Meg said thoughtfully, "that he dreamed he must cry very quietly lest the Egyptians should hear him." "Deah littoo Mophez ... and what nelse?" Meg was tempted and fell. It was very easy for her to invent "dleams" for "deah littoo Mophez" lying in his bulrush ark among the flags at the river's edge.
"It certainly seems unfair," Jan said thoughtfully, "but I think you'd better not." "It is unfair," Tony grumbled. Jan loosed his hands. "Now," she said, "you can do what you like." Little Fay leaned towards her brother, smiling her irresistible, dimpled, twinkling smile, and held out a spoonful of her porridge. "Deah littoo Tony," she cooed, "taste it."
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