"Daddy mustn't read to-day. It's Denny's birfday. Daddies don't read on their little boys' birfdays, does they, Denny?"
"No," replied Denny, in a voice of conviction.
"What do Daddies do under such circumstances?" asked Denis, senior, in an amused tone of voice.
"What their little girls wants them to do, doesn't them, Denny?"
"'Es," answered Denny, seeing no reason to controvert this reasoning.
"But it's not your birthday, Kath," suggested Mother.
"It's Denny's, and Denny gave it to me, 'cos I told him I wouldn't kiss him if he didn't."
Here the peculiar injustice of this proceeding suddenly struck Denny, and he began to cry, not in a quiet and subdued manner, as a respectable boy would, but in a stentorian roar.
It was at this moment that Molly Healy came up the avenue, and she rushed at and snatched Denny up in her arms.
"Were they cruel to my boy on his birthday? Never mind. Molly's brought you something nice," she cried.