“Touch! Touch!” they cried, capering about like wild Indians. “You touched the ‘touch button.’ You owe us one now.”
“So I do,” said Mrs. Vane, laughing. “I had forgotten all about ‘touch buttons.’ I shall be more careful after this. You won’t catch me again. Now, Phil, there are your refreshments, so draw up to the table whenever you are ready. I must go look for buttons to pay my debt!”
Mrs. Vane, still laughing, took the tray and went downstairs.
Susan and Phil found themselves ready for the refreshments and made haste to set the little table with the green-and-white china tea-set. The dinner plates were quite large enough to hold the sponge cakes, and if the tea-cups seemed a trifle small, think how many more times the brimming pitcher of lemonade would go round.
Phil set out four plates instead of two.
“We will each ask one company to come to the table,” said he. “I want the rocking-horse, he looks so thirsty, and your grandfather always stops to give Nero a drink when we go riding.”
And Phil dragged his steed over to the table, where he rocked back and forth for a moment bumping his nose against the edge of the table each time. Indeed, with his open jaws and bright red nostrils, he looked as if a whole trough of lemonade would be needed to slake his thirst.
“I’ll take the bunny because he has only one ear,” said tender-hearted Susan.
As she stooped to pick up the rabbit, she uttered a scream and sent poor bun flying half-way across the room. A small brown object, far more frightened than Susan, sped like a streak of lightning along the wall, and disappeared into the big closet where Phil kept his toys.
“What is it? What is it?” cried Phil, for Susan was jumping up and down with her hands over her ears.