That pound was always being spent in imagination; and the voices broke out again.
'Oh, then Papa can have the respirator!'
'Felix, the rocking-horse!'
'Felix, do get us three little cannon to make a jolly row every birth-day!'
'Felix, do you know that Charlie Froggatt says he would sell that big Newfoundland for a pound? and that would be among us all.'
'Nonsense, Fulbert! a big dog is always eating; but there is a concertina at Lake's.'
'Tina—tina—concertina! But, I say, Fee, there's White-heart been wishing her heart out all the time for a real good paint-box.'
'Oh, never mind that, Ed; no one would care for one but you and me; and the little ones would spoil all the paints.'
'Yes, resumed Wilmet, from her throne, 'it would be the worry of one's life to keep the little ones off them; and baby would be poisoned to a dead certainty. Now the respirator—'
'Now the concertina—'