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Amy chirped like a cricket, and Jo wandered through the airs at her own sweet will, always coming out at the wrong place with a croak or a quaver that spoiled the most pensive tune. They had always done this from the time they could lisp... Crinkle, crinkle, 'ittle 'tar, and it had become a household custom, for the mother was a born singer.
"Why, dearest mamma," answered Violet, laughing to think that her mother did not comprehend so very plain an affair, "this is our little snow-sister whom we have just been making!" "Yes, dear mamma," cried Peony, running to his mother, and looking up simply into her face. "This is our snow-image! Is it not a nice 'ittle child?" At this instant a flock of snow-birds came flitting through the air.
It was the first time she had been in the sick room, and on this evening while her mother was busy she had softly stolen away. "Give dis to ittle sick boy," she said. "He like pitty woses." "Come here, dear," Nellie replied, and as the child approached she took the flower, and placed the stem in Dan's doubled-up hand.
"You say that again, and I'll give you the worst " "You will NOT!" snapped Marjorie, instantly vitriolic. "He'll say just whatever he wants to, and he'll say it just as MUCH as he wants to. Say it again, Mitchy-Mitch!" "'Ittle gellamun!" said Mitchy-Mitch promptly. "Ow-YAH!" Penrod's tone-production was becoming affected by his mental condition. "You say that again, and I'll "
"My darling mamma," answered Violet, looking seriously into her mother's face, and apparently surprised that she should need any further explanation, "I have told you truly who she is. It is our little snow-image, which Peony and I have been making. Peony will tell you so, as well as I." "Yes, mamma," asseverated Peony, with much gravity in his crimson little phiz; "this is 'ittle snow-child.
Apparently she did so consider it, for from that day, whenever she was asked her name, she announced herself proudly as "Zordie's 'ittle wife, Thelma" to the great amusement of her father, Sir Philip, and that other Thelma, on whom the glory of motherhood had fallen like a new charm, investing both face and form with superior beauty and an almost divine serenity.
"And what in the world are you doing to Barbara?" Mrs. Vandeman said sharply. "Let her alone, Skeet. You'll make her look ridiculous." Skeet stuck out her tongue at her sister, and went calmly on, mumbling as she worked, "Hold 'till 'ittle Barbie child. Yook up at pretty mans and hold 'till."
"I ate it up," said the truthful youth. "Did you eat the handkerchief, too?" "No; I froed nashty old handkerchief out the window don't want dirty old handkerchiefs in my nice 'ittle room."
"Aren't you trying for a record or something? This is twice you've called on me this month." "Mary, I'm in trouble." "Is the poor 'ittle boy in trouble and come to Auntie Mary to tell her all about it?" she sing-songed, making a little moue, as though she was talking to her pet cat. "Cut it, Mary!" I said. "I'm really in trouble." "What is it, Bupps?" "Helen ran off with Frank Woods to-day."
"Go on, Mitchy-Mitch," cried Marjorie. "He can't do a thing. He don't DARE! Say it some more, Mitchy-Mitch say it a whole lot!" Mitchy-Mitch, his small, fat face shining with confidence in his immunity, complied. "'Ittle gellamun!" he squeaked malevolently. "'Ittle gellamun! 'Ittle gellamun! 'Ittle gellamun!"
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