“How did you become acquainted with your daddy?”
“He used to come every day and gallop around the round table in Betsy’s room. I think he liked the bowl of nasturtiums she had there, for when he got tired of galloping he would go and curl himself up in the flowers.”
“What made you think it was always the same creature?”
“Because he had a feeler gone. We think he lost it in a fight, for one day we saw two daddies fighting and they fought like anything. They have such very, very thin legs and feelers, finer than thread, so it would be very easy for an enemy to pull one off.”
“What became of your daddy?”
“He committed suicide,” answered Elizabeth with perfect gravity.
“Why, Elizabeth, I do think that is going a little too far. You are a little too imaginative when you get started sometimes.”
“But, mother, he really did. He walked right into the open fire in Betsy’s room; we saw him do it. We didn’t know whether he did it because he was unhappy or because he thought it was a bright and beautiful palace that he was going into; anyhow he destroyed himself, for we saw him and we were too late to pull him back from danger. We really missed him very much.”
“Well, my dear, I think if you were to write just what you have told me it would make a very good theme and I wouldn’t bother about lynxes this time.”
“Oh, but I would like to. I might take the daddy first and the lynx the next time, then I would have a chance to learn more about lynxes. I really do want to find out a little more about daddies, and I am going to look them up in a encycellopedia.”