Elsie gladly fell in with her friend’s idea, and together they endeavoured to place Willamilla upon her feet on the ground. In this they were confronted with insuperable difficulties: Willamilla proved unable to comprehend their intentions; and although Daisy knelt and repeatedly placed the small feet in position, the experiment was wholly unsuccessful. Nevertheless the experimenters, not at all discouraged, continued it with delight, for they played that Willamilla was walking. They heaped praises upon her.
“My darling baby!” Daisy cried. “Doesn’t she walk beautiful?”
“The precious little love!” Elsie echoed. “She just walks beautiful!”
At this the gloomy person in the background permitted himself to sneer. “That ain’t walkin’,” he said.
“It is, too! You doe’ know what you’re talkin’ about!” the chorus of two retorted, not interrupting their procedure.
“He ain’t walkin’,” Laurence maintained.
“She is, too!” said Elsie.
“She’s walkin’ now,” said Daisy. “She’s walkin’ all the time.”
“No, he’s not,” Laurence said. “His feet are sort of curly, and they’re ’way too wide apart. I bet there’s somep’m the matter with him.”
“There is not!” The two little girls looked round at him indignantly; for this unwarranted intimation of some structural imperfection roused them. “Shame on you!” Daisy said; and to Willamilla: “Show mamma how beautiful she walks.”