“Yes, William!” echoed Mrs. Delight. “This house is certainly a tight fit for three, and with two extra ones!”
“I wish I could afford a larger house,” said Mr. Delight in a worried tone.
“My dear husband!” exclaimed Mrs. Delight. Betsey had to sit up straight on the rug and take Mrs. Delight around the table to kiss her husband affectionately. “I didn’t mean a word I said, William; I really didn’t.”
“There, there, my dear, I know you didn’t,” replied Mr. Delight soothingly.
But Mother suspected that Mr. Delight was worried just the same, so she softly pulled the door together and tiptoed away to the telephone. She smiled to herself as she called up the carpenter-shop.
“I want you to make my daughter Betsey a doll-house, Mr. Jones,” she said. “Just like the one you made for your little girl,—that had four rooms and six windows, and a big door between the rooms. And can you get it done for Betsey’s birthday? In four days?”
“I will get it done, paint and all,” promised Mr. Jones. And he did.
On the morning of her ninth birthday, Betsey came smiling to breakfast, expecting to see a pile of dainty white parcels at her plate.
“Your birthday present is up in the playroom, Betsey dear,” said Mother with a kiss.
“I’m afraid she won’t like it,” said Father.