But Mac festooned himself across the open box couch.
"No; sometime isn't ever, and I wants to hear it now. I do 'clare, mamma, you've put in my best coat." And before she could stop him, he had pounced upon it and pulled it out, upsetting a superstratum of gowns in the process.
"Mac, let that be."
"But I want it, mamma. I want to wear it. I look just too sweet in it."
"Mac!"
"Well, vat's what Lizabuf said. Will Lizabuf go too?"
"No."
"Who will take care of me, and put me into my coatsleeves ven?"
"I shall."
"I'd ravver have Lizabuf. Oh, mamma, is vat your swishy dress? It's so beautiful!" This time, Mac lost his balance and plunged headlong into the trunk. For one moment, his chubby legs waved in the air; then his mother seized him and set him down in a chair at the farther side of the room.