Elsa kept still as long as she could; then the stuffed gray squirrel fell from her shoulder, and Ben, springing to catch it, knocked down the wall of pillows, and the show was over.
“How did you ever happen to think of it?” Alice asked, when the flushed and happy actors stood around the lounge, taking off their costumes.
“Elsa thought of it,” cried Betty, who was holding the stuffed squirrel tenderly.
“Betty made me take the princess part, though I wanted her to,” said Elsa.
“Because she has yellow hair, like the princess,” put in Ben. “Betty dressed us, and didn’t she do well? Your coat was just the thing,” he added, turning as Miss Ruth rose to help him out of it. “My! it’s hot.”
“Did you know what it was, Mrs. Holt?” Elsa inquired, coming to Mrs. Holt’s side.
“Yes, dear, for Alice has told the story to Ben and me, twice.”
“Do your children tell you stories?” Elsa asked, with wide-open, surprised eyes.
“Sometimes, Elsa,” Mrs. Holt replied. “I sit by the fire the last part of the afternoon, usually, and the children lie on pillows in front of the fire; and if I am too tired to tell them a story, they tell me one.”
“And do they have shows often?” Elsa questioned eagerly. This was almost like a storybook, this account of the happy home-life.