“I’d only got to nine,” said Doris. “Bob counts so quick. No matter, begin the story.”
“I haven’t thought of one yet,” said Miss Lestrange. “What shall it be? Selina is the youngest, and she shall choose; what would you like a story about, Selina?”
“Pigs!” replied Selina after a moment’s deliberation, during which her eyes had wandered round the walls of the room in search of inspiration.
“I’m afraid I can scarcely rise to pigs,” said Miss Lestrange. “Think again, Selina; shut your eyes and think hard. How would a story about a giant do?”
Selina thought for a moment, and then, with the air of a person who had quite made up her mind:
“I want a ’tory about piggy-wiggies.”
“Try a giant, Selina,” said Doris, in the coaxing voice of a nurse offering a delicacy to an invalid.
“Don’t want a giant,” replied the pig fancier. “I want piggy-wiggies.”
“Who’s this that wants piggy-wiggies?” came a voice from the door. “Oh, I beg pardon—thought there was no one here. May I come in?”
“No room, no room,” cried Miss Lestrange; “we are telling stories.”