(Editor. How did he know? And why "huskily"?
Author. He didn't know, he guessed. And his mouth was full.)
"Are you Father Kwistmas?" repeated Elsie.
Robert felt at his chin, and thanked Heaven again that he had let his beard grow. Almost mechanically he decided to wear the mask—in short, to dissemble.
"Yes, my dear," he said. "I just looked in to know what you would like me to bring you."
"You're late, aren't oo? Oughtn't oo to have come this morning?"
(Editor. This is splendid. This quite reconciles me to the absence of the robin. But what was Elsie doing downstairs?
Author. I am making Robert ask her that question directly.
Editor. Yes, but just tell me now—between friends.
Author. She had left her golliwog in the room, and couldn't sleep without it.