But the next evening it was evident that Bubbles still bore the subject of snakes in her mind. Mr. and Mrs. Dallas had gone out. Dimple, Florence and Bubbles were sitting on the floor by one of the front windows.
The air was full of the scent of the honeysuckle, and the katydids were contradicting each other in the trees.
"What quarrelsome things they are," said Florence. "Do you suppose they will ever find out whether katy did or not? I'd like to know what she did, anyhow."
"Or what she didn't," said Dimple. "Bubbles, are you asleep?" giving her a shake.
"Thinkin'," said Bubbles, sitting up straight and rubbing her eyes.
"Then what are you rubbing your eyes for?"
"'Cause it's dark. I can't see good," returned Bubbles.
"I declare," Dimple said, "I never know what to do with myself when mamma goes out; it seems to me she is very intimate with Mrs. Hardy. Florence, suppose you tell a story."
"Oh, I can't," replied Florence. "I never could. I never know what to tell about. You tell."
"I don't know any except Cinderella and the Seven Swans, and those. Bubbles will have to do it. Go on Bubbles, you've got to tell us a story."