“Is that me?” she gasped.
“It is you, grammar and all,” laughed papa, turning to Eunice, who lay in her cot on the other side of the room. “Admire each other to your heart’s content, for you are just alike, my blooming little beauties.”
“It’s bad enough to be sick without being such frights,” said Eunice dolefully. “Cricket, you look so funny. I want to laugh at you all the time, and I can’t laugh for my face is so stiff that I can’t seem to manage it.”
“I’ve been wanting to laugh at you ever since we woke up, but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” said Cricket, politely. “I didn’t know I looked just as worse.”
“You look ‘just as worser,’ if anything, little Lindley Murray,” said papa, rising to go.
“But I don’t feel so very sick to-day, excepting my head. Couldn’t I get up by-and-by, papa? My legs feel so kicky.”
“Yes, you may get up, but don’t leave this room, remember. Here comes mamma now. Have you given Eliza directions about the children, dear?”
“Yes, she will keep them on the nursery floor. So these two can get up? That’s nice. Mumps may not be very comfortable, my chickens, but it is nothing dangerous, if you don’t take cold. Think of you two going to the party last night in that condition!”
“I guess it was the mumpfulest party there ever was,” said Cricket musingly. “I don’t believe there was a single unmumpful child there. Good-by papa; be sure and stop and see if Emily has the mumps—and if she hasn’t, I’ll send her some.”
“It might be a good plan to have an auction sale of them,” laughed papa, as he left the room.