"Then my naughty scamp is no more, and I have an angel niece," said Fibo, looking at her reflectively. "I should think Annette doesn't know herself."
"Well, I aren't exackly an angel yet—not like Cherubine. Would you like to speak to her, Fibo? She's rather shy, and she gene'lly gets behind me."
Fibo had made acquaintance with a good many personalities who accompanied Dreamikins upon her visits to him. The first one was Old Man Sol. When Dreamikins was three she talked about him. He seemed rather a harmless old soul, but a great comfort to Dreamikins. She sometimes called her nurse after she had been put into her cot at night, because Old Man Sol wanted to be kissed, or tucked up tighter. She always talked hard to him, and he always helped her in her games. By and by he faded away, and a shadowy, indescribable Pollybill took his place. Dreamikins was absolutely happy with this creation of hers.
"Is it a she or a he?" Fibo asked one day.
"It isn't neither," said Dreamikins triumphantly.
"Oh, an 'it,' is it?"
But Dreamikins shook her head. "Pollybill is only Pollybill, and nuffin else at all. I call Pollybill 'you.'"
"What does 'you' look like?"
"Pollybill has a kitty's eyes, big and round, no cloves, only soft hair, and can be very little and very big, just what I want. And Pollybill always says 'Yes' to me, never 'No.'"
Dreamikins could describe this individual no better, and Fibo was rather glad when Pollybill departed. Then came two or three fairies and sprites, but none of them ever stayed with her long. Blacky was a Pixie. He had a long innings, and Dreamikins found him a lovely scapegoat for all her mischievous propensities.