Nothing that Daddy Coax could do would please the “little angels,” as he called them.
“Little angels indeed!” thought Kitty severely. “They are little imps.”
One little girl tumbled on her nose as she was hastening along; she picked herself up, and was giving her plump small figure a shake, when Daddy Coax, with a cry and extended arms, rushed toward her, dropping a slipper in his haste. At sight of this offer of sympathy the child lifted her voice and howled bitterly.
“Oh, the darling lamb!” cried Daddy Coax, taking her into his arms. “Is she hurt—where is she hurt? Show her old Daddy where she is hurt?”
“Ded—ful—ly hurt on this knee!” sobbed the little one, pulling up her frock and displaying a plump rosy knee without a scratch. “No! it’s a mistake—it’s on this one,” she explained with bitterer sobs, showing the other knee, that was as unbruised and unscratched as its fellow.
“Yes, it’s a mistake,” chirped Daddy Coax joyously, clasping the little one nearer.
“It—’s not—a—mistake—it’s my no—o—ose,” roared the child in a deluge of tears, slapping the kind old man’s cheek, and struggling out of his arms.
“Daddy Coax’s school should be called the place where children are taught to be naughty,” Kitty remarked to herself.
At last Daddy Coax struggled up to the middle of the room. He set Kitty standing on the table, and looked round on the children with his mild, kind, foolish eyes. There was some thing almost like silence for a moment; a crowd of small faces gazed at Kitty, who had never before felt so many eyes fixed upon her.
“When a friend comes to see one,” said Daddy Coax cheerily, “what ought we to do? We ought to make it pleasant, for a friend’s visit is better than cakes and sugar-plums. This little girl—bless her—is a dear, good little girl!”