“Both,” answered Betty, “but the gray owl story first.”
“The doll story first, please,” begged Elsa. The fire lighted up the golden-brown of Miss Ruth’s gown, and its brown fur trimming; Elsa decided that the fur just matched the colour of Miss Ruth’s eyes.
“I should like either story first,—only both please,” said Alice slowly, between bites at a long-necked giraffe.
“Which one can you tell easiest, Miss Ruth?” Elsa suddenly remembered to ask.
“I could tell the fairy story more easily to-day, perhaps, because I told it only yesterday to my little niece who was visiting me. The old lady’s doll story actually happened, so that I remember it better.”
“Then the fairy story first, please,” Elsa said, contentedly. She had one of the little dolls in her arms.
“Didn’t the fairy story really happen, too?” Alice asked quickly. She had chosen from among the dolls a blue-eyed, yellow-haired one that looked very much like herself.
“What a silly question, Baby Alice,” cried Betty. “Of course fairy stories aren’t true.”
“What makes you like fairy stories, Betty, if they are not true?” Elsa asked, seeing that Alice looked hurt.
“Because fairies are so dear and kind that it makes you wish they were true,” Betty replied.