“Oh! You mean to plant things,” said King. “Well, let’s all make gardens. It’s Saturday, and we can dig ’em this morning, and plant ’em this afternoon, and there you are!”
“Yes,” said Kitty, scornfully, “there you are! Who’s going to water them all summer, and weed them? You know very well, Mops, that when we didn’t keep our gardens nice last spring, Father said we couldn’t have any this year.”
“I know it; that’s what’s bothering me. I know we can’t have gardens, but I do want to dig.”
“Oh, well,” said King, “go and dig in the sand-heap. That won’t do any harm, and you can dig as long as you like.”
“No,” said Midget, disconsolately; “I want to plant a garden. I wish Father hadn’t said we couldn’t. If he was here, I’m sure I could coax him to let me do it. I’d keep it weeded and watered this year—I know I would.”
“Yes; if Thomas did it all for you,” laughed King. “No, Mopsy Midget, you’re too careless to take care of a garden. Take your big brother’s advice, and don’t begin on schemes that you can’t carry out.”
“But I want to dig,” said Marjorie, again.
“Mopsy Maynard,” said King, “I’ve got that thoroughly in my head. I’m positively convinced that you want to dig, but I’ve done all I can in the matter, so don’t repeat that information for my benefit.”
“I want to dig,” said Marjorie, in just the same tone; saying it, now, of course, merely to tease her brother.
“I dig wiv oo, Middy; we dig togevver,” volunteered Rosy Posy, always willing to do anything for her adored Midget.