“I’m thirteen years old,” declared Dick, haughtily, for he did not at all approve of being called a child.
“Oh, are you indeed!” was the reply, amid shouts of laughter. “I suppose you think yourself quite a man, and are consequently too old to believe in the fairies, who are more than thirteen thousand years old.”
“You know you used to believe in them, Dick,” interposed Marjorie. “Don’t you remember how we used to enjoy that lovely fairy book Aunt May gave us, and dear old ‘Alice in Wonderland,’ and——”
“That was years ago,” interrupted Dick, turning very red. “I’ve had it all explained to me since that, and I don’t read those kind of books now.”
“Do you read Shakespeare?” demanded one of the little folks.
“Some of it,” replied Dick, doubtfully.
“Have you ever read ιMidsummer Night’s Dream?᾿”
“Oh, yes! Jolly! Titania, and Oberon, and Puck, and all that lot, you know; and the jolly little chaps that——”
“Hullo! I thought you didn’t believe in fairies,” interrupted some one.
“Oh, well, that’s different, you know; that’s Shakespeare, and—and——”