But Mrs. Dufty retorted:
"The precious things in this world always are."
And that reduced Fibo to silence; but he much enjoyed his glass of milk.
"I wish I could run about," said Dreamikins, with a wistful droop to her mouth. "I should love to see your cows, and baby cows, and pigs and chickens; and they have little turkeys, Fibo. Mr. Dufty told me so! I wish I could have a little turkey to play with Whiskers! I'm sure they'd just love each other."
"And then you would have to kill it and eat it for your Christmas dinner," said Fibo; "turkeys only live for that."
Dreamikins shuddered at this. Then Mrs. Dufty said she hoped she would come out and spend a long day at the farm when her leg was quite well. And Dreamikins promised she would.
It was almost beginning to get dusk when they started to drive home. Fibo drove this time, and Dreamikins talked hard the whole way.
When they got home there was no lad to take the pony, and Daw came out with a very grave face.
"I'll see to him myself, sir. That Michael Dunn is a bad lot, I fear."
"Michael!" cried Dreamikins in dismay. "Why, I love him. He cut me a whistle out of a stick!"