"If he has a pair I want some, too," said Noodle.
"That's how I thought it would be," said Mrs. Flat-tail, with a look at her husband.
"Well, I'm afraid no one can have roller skates this year," said the beaver gentleman. "This is going to be a hard winter. There aren't many trees left around here for food any more, and we'll have to bring them from a long way off. And the pond will soon be frozen over, too. Ice skates would be much better for you, Toodle, and you can make them yourself."
"I'll show you how," spoke Grandpa Whackum.
"I'd—I'd rather have roller skates," said the little beaver boy.
"Well, you had better study your school home work lesson now," said his papa, as he sat down to read the evening paper.
But Toodle did not feel much like studying. You know how it is yourself, when you want a rubber doll, or maybe a water-pistol, or a bicycle, or something that your papa or mamma can't let you have, for one reason or another. You keep thinking of that, and nothing else, and it seems as if you really must have it.
That's the way it was with Toodle. He thought of nothing much but roller skates. The next day in school when Professor Rat asked him how to spell horse, Toodle said:
"R-o-l-l-e-r—roller, s-k-a-t-e—skate—roller skates," and all the animal children laughed at him.
"Next," said the teacher, and poor Toodle had to go down to the foot of the class. Oh, how badly he felt.