Tibbie. Oh, lemme guess, first, Sal, and tell me when I'm hot! Is it made of sugar?
Sally. No, it ain't.
Tibbie. But you said it was a treat, didn't you, Sally?
Sally. I did that. But ain't there treats and treats? There's goin' to the circus, for instance. That hasn't any sugar.
Tibbie. Is it a circus, Sally? Is it a circus?
Sally. No, it ain't a circus, but it's every bit as nice.
Tibbie. Is it freaks, Sally? Oh, tell me if it's freaks! It isn't? Are you sure I'll like it very much? It's nothing to eat, and it's nothing I can have to keep, and it's not a circus. What color is it? You'll answer straight, won't you?
Sally. Oh, it's every color in the world, and striped, and polka-dotted, and crinkled, and smooth. There's a hundred of it.
Tibbie [rapturously]. Oh!
Sally [takes her hand]. Come along now, I'm going to wash your hands in Mrs. Darling's basin. Ain't it handsome? [Pokes the scented soap under the nose of Tibbie, who sniffs delightedly.] Flowers on the chiny, too. [Washes Tibbie's hands while they talk.] Did you get anything for Christmas yet, Tibbie? [Tibbie moves her head slowly up and down, absorbed in the process of washing.] What did you get?