Two widely opened pairs of serious eyes travelled from the lessening spot on the floor to her face.
"I think it would be nice to spill a bottle of 'fumery every day an' smell it 'vaporate," gurgled Doris, showing her dimples.
Elizabeth lifted the mischievous face toward hers with an admonitory finger-tip. "I'll tell you, Doris, what you must do to make it right with father," she said slowly and impressively. "You must take all the money out of your bank and buy a new bottle of bay-rum."
She felt that for once, at least, she had made the punishment fit the crime to a nicety.
"Not all my money, mother?"
"It will take every cent of it, I am afraid."
The small culprit clapped her hands and executed an impromptu pirouette. "Oh, goody, goody, Carroll! mother says I may spend all my money; won't that be fun? When, mother, when can I buy the bottle for daddy? To-day? Say yes, mother; please say yes!"
Elizabeth buried her face in her baby's fat neck to conceal the rebellious smile that would curve her young lips, just when she knew she ought to be grave and severe.
"If you are a good girl in kindergarten I will take you to the store this afternoon," she said finally, with an undercurrent of wonder at the punishment which had so suddenly been metamorphosed into a reward. These singular transformations were apt to occur when her small daughter was concerned. She reflected upon the recurrence of the phenomenon as she brushed the silken mass of Doris' blond hair and fastened up her frock in the back, both operations being impeded by the wrigglings of the stalwart infant in her lap.
"I like to smell 'fumery," announced the young person, at the conclusion of her toilet, "an' I love—I jus' love to hear pennies jingle in my pocket. Can I empty the money out of my bank now, mother? Can I?" She swung backward and forward on her toes like a bird poised for flight.