"We don't have to have the ark of bulrushes now," said Jean.
"Put Moses in Pharaoh's daughter's lap," said Jack. "I wish I knew what her name was."
"I can tell you," said Nan; "it was Thermeutis."
Jack stared and repeated the name softly to herself. Nan's facts were always thankfully received, and could be counted upon as being correct.
"I must confess that Moses is not a beauty," remarked Nan as she looked at the face of the ugly, fat little image staring from the folds of a white towel, "and you were just singing 'To the side of the river so clear they carried the beautiful child.'"
"We'll just have to pretend he is beautiful."
"He looks as if he had a bad case of mumps," Nan went on. "I think he needs a doctor, myself."
"Oh, Nan," said Jean reproachfully, "you're spoiling the play. We are just pretending everything. I don't think Mr. St. Nick looks like the pictures of Pharaoh, but he has to do, for there isn't any one else."
"He makes a very good king, I think," remarked Jack busying herself with her long train. "Carter has to be Aaron, you know."
"Do you think I resemble my brother, Nan?" inquired Carter in an anxious tone.