"Well, no, but they are rather decrepit when they reach such extreme old age as that—Uncle Heath is forty you know, and see what a tottering old man he is."
"Now, papa, you are laughing at me. I don't believe you'll have grey hairs for years and years."
"They are starting, I am sure. However, we'll change the subject, if you wish. What do you expect me to give you on that festal day? Not another doll, surely?"
"No—I don't know—perhaps."
"Oh, you are insatiable as to dolls. I believe if any one were to give you a dozen at Christmas you would be glad to have a dozen more on New Years. I don't believe Florence is so doll-crazy."
"Yes, she is. Aren't you, Florence?"
Florence nodded.
"Nevertheless," continued Mr. Dallas, "I'll promise no doll this time. Shall it be books? Perhaps we'd better consult mamma. Come to think of it, I had an idea about this same birthday. It seems to me I thought it wouldn't be a bad plan to provide some amusement for rainy days."
The two little girls looked at each other, and Dimple hung her head.
"What do you think?" Mr. Dallas asked, quizzically. "It seems to me that I have heard that the rain produces a singularly bad effect upon two little girls I know."