“Heaps of things for everybody,” he said. “Belated gifts, magazines, letters, and post cards. Patty, this big parcel is for you; Daisy, here are two for you.”
“May take letters! Let baby May be postman!” cried the infant Kenerley.
“Let her, Jim,—she loves to be postman,” and Adèle put the baby down from her arms, and she toddled to her father.
“Great scheme!” said Hal. “Wait a minute, midget; I’ll make you a cap.”
With a few folds, a newspaper was transformed into a three-cornered cap and placed on the baby’s head.
“Now you’re a postman,” said her uncle. “Go and get the letters from the post-office.”
“Letters, p’ease,” said the baby, holding out her fat little hands to her father.
“All right, kiddums; these parcels are too big for you; you’re no parcel-post carrier. But here’s a bunch of letters; pass them around and let every one pick out his own.”
Obediently, the baby postman started off, and passing Daisy first, dumped the whole lot in her lap.
“Wait a minute, Toddles,” said Daisy. “I’ll pick out mine, then you take the rest on.”