"I should think you would," Dora said, trying to be severe.
"That's all right," grumbled Tommy, turning to Dorothy for comfort. "I didn't swaller any matchheads."
"Why did you say you did?" asked Dorothy.
"Just to plague Alice. But I won't do it again. Ugh! that was nasty stuff she gave me. That's what she'd give me if I was p'izened. I don't want to be p'izened," declared the little fellow, frankly.
"And you don't want to say what isn't so, either, eh?" queried Dora.
"We-ell," said Master Tommy, slowly, "lots of things that ain't so, is better than them that are so. There's fairy stories."
"Quite right," said Dora, quickly. "But there's nightmares, too—bad dreams, you know. They are not so, but they aren't pleasant to dream, are they?"
"Oh, no!" cried Tommy. "And I had a turrible bad dream—onct! And I was scart—yes, sir! And Billy heard me crying and he took me out of my crib and took me into bed with him."
Alice smiled. "I remember Tommy told about that. He said the cats got to fighting and were scratching and biting him."
"And Billy woked me up and took me to bed with him," said Tommy, placidly. "I wish Billy would come home again."