‘Once upon a time,’ began Father, in the most comfortable kind of a way, ‘there lived a family of Periwinkles under a rock on the edge of the sand.’
Now a story was just what Sally had been wishing for, and at this pleasant beginning she snuggled down in bed without a word and closed her eyes, the better to enjoy the tale.
‘There was Mother Periwinkle,’ went on Father. ‘She stayed at home and kept the house. There was Father Periwinkle, too. He scurried round to find food for the family.’
‘I never saw a periwinkle scurry,’ interrupted Sally. ‘I thought they could only creep.’
‘You never saw Father Periwinkle out hunting sand-bugs for dinner,’ was Father’s answer.
‘No, I never did,’ agreed Sally, with the tiniest kind of a yawn.
‘Then there were the children, Peri and Winkle,’ continued Father. ‘Peri was a sweet little girl and Winkle was a good little boy. That is, he was almost always good. But one morning he woke up naughty. I don’t know why, I am sure, but it was so.’
Sally nodded as if she understood. No doubt she did understand, for sometimes the same thing happened to her.
‘What did he do naughty?’ she asked with interest.
‘Everything,’ replied Father, ‘everything he could think of to do. His mother was hurrying round, cleaning up the house, because they were all going to take dinner that day with Grandmother Periwinkle who lived up the beach. But Winkle wouldn’t help his mother at all. He might have dusted or straightened up the rooms. But he didn’t. Instead, he kept standing in his mother’s way until twice she nearly tripped over him and fell. Then when his little sister Peri was just getting over a crying spell—’