Dreamikins was her sunshiny self at once. Not again that day did she mention Michael, or the prison into which she was wanting to put him.
But the next morning she pushed her way into her uncle's room very early.
"Fibo, when I was in bed this morning, Er told me of all the people he had got out of prison. Don't you remember Peter in prison? One of God's angels got him out. Er thinks if him and me goes together we'll get Michael out very quick. It wouldn't hurt him to be in prison a teeny weeny little bit if I comed quick and let him out. So it won't be wicked to wish him there for about half an hour."
Fibo judged it best not to take his small niece seriously. He refused to be drawn into any arguments, and would only talk nonsense, distracting her mind at once from the undesirable subject.
When Dreamikins met her governess a little later, she said:
"Fibo and me have been having such pretence games in his room that I feel quite tarred. He's the funniest man in the world. He's been turning his face into all kinds of things—a H.D., and a P.D., and a A.O., and into you!"
"Into me?" said the astonished Miss Fletcher.
"Yes, into the M.R.P. That's what you are."
"I never shall understand all your letters," said Miss Fletcher pleasantly.
And then Daffy enlightened her.