“Why, who is this? who is this?” he asked, peering into Kitty’s face. He had rosy cheeks, gentle eyes full of a gay light, and his lips trembled as if ready to break out into smiles and laughter.
“No, no; that is not a naughty child. Daddy Coax knows better than that.”
He shook his head so violently, to show he knew what he was saying, that his wig went first on one side, then on the other, and at last it tumbled right over his eyebrows. He did not seem to mind how his wig went. Kitty thought it looked like a thatched roof.
“Then you are Daddy Coax!” she said.
“To be sure I am, honey! To be sure!” the old man answered, laughing, and the laugh was so joyous that it set Kitty laughing also.
“They call me Daddy Coax because I pat the children’s heads when they are sobbing, and because I keep school with toys and sweets and stories instead of lessons.” He took out his snuff-box and took a pinch; then he sneezed and sneezed till his head sank upon his chest, and his wig came right over his eyes.
“Oh, dear! oh, dear! Those children have put pepper into my snuff-box!” He laughed; nothing seemed to put out Daddy Coax.
“I wonder you live with them!” said Kitty.
