‘They were eating dessert, seaweed blanc mange and jelly-roll, when Winkle came in, and he slipped into his seat and began to eat jelly-roll, too, without saying a word.
‘“Won’t you have a little Clam Pie, Winkle?” asked Grandmother politely.
‘Winkle grew quite pale and shook his head. The very thought of pie made him feel ill.
‘Father Periwinkle was late to dinner, too. He came in soon after Winkle, and he ate Clam Pie with relish, two shellfulls, for the Periwinkles use shells, of course, instead of plates.
‘All the rest of the day Winkle was the very best little Periwinkle boy along the shore.
‘That night before he went to sleep he told his mother what had happened to him, and whenever after that he began to be naughty, all Mother or Father Periwinkle had to say to him was “Periwinkle Pie!” to turn him into a good little Periwinkle boy again.’
‘What was the big Voice?’ asked Sally sleepily.
Her eyes were closing and opening and closing again.
‘It was his own father,’ was Father’s reply. ‘Mother Periwinkle met him on the way to Grandmother’s and told him how badly Winkle was behaving. So Father Periwinkle crept up behind him and talked in a deep bass voice that Winkle didn’t know at all.’
‘His own father,’ murmured Sally, too sleepy to be surprised. ‘Now tell me—tell me—’