“What is it?” said Maggie May.
“That tall ray of sunshine,” I answered, “is the nearest approach to what we in Greenland call sun-dogs, and Frank and I were looking for them.”
“What are sun-dogs?”
“A strange kind of mirage, Maggie May, in which the sun is reflected four times in the sky, so that you can actually see four or even five suns—that is, one real, and four unreal.”
“Now,” said Ida, “tell me a stoly.”
“And me a story too,” said Maggie May.
“Get your fiddle and play, Frank.”
Frank did so, and sang too, but the children would not be put off, so I had to begin.
“It is about a little dog—a spaniel, Ida—and it is the poor little fellow himself that is supposed to be speaking. Do you understand?”
“I twite understand; go on.”