“Then what makes him look so white and sunny, an’ smile so sweet, an’ flap his dear little white wings close to my face so I can touch ’em?”
“I suppose it is because—because you have thought of him looking that way,” said Mrs. Burton, drawing Budge closer to her side to hide the wistfulness of his face from her eyes. “You’ve seen pictures of angels all in white, with graceful wings, and you’ve thought of little brother Phil looking that way.”
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Budge, burying his face in his aunt’s robe and bursting into tears. “I wish I hadn’t tried to find out about dreamin’! I don’t ever want to learn about anything else. If dear little angel Phillie is only a piece of a think in my brain when I’m asleep, then there isn’t nothin’ that’s anythin’. I always thought it was funny that he began to go away as soon as I began to wake up.”
“Cows don’t go ’way when I wakes up from dreamin’ about ’em,” said Toddie. “I ’members ’em all day, an’ sees ’em whenever I don’t want to.”
Mrs. Burton could not repress a smile, while Budge raised his head, and said:
“Well, I suppose it’s no good to be unhappy. We’d better have fun than think about things that’s awful sad. Can’t you think of some new kind of a play for us?”
“I’m afraid I can’t, at this minute,” said Mrs. Burton.
“Suppose you play store,” said Budge, “an’ keep lots of nice things, like cakes an’ candies, an’ let us buy ’em of you for pins. Oh, yes! an’ you give us the pins to buy ’em with.
“An’ do it ’fore it getsh dinner-time,” said Toddie, “so de fings you sell us can get out of the way in time, so we can get empty to get fullded up at dinner.”
“I can’t do that,” said Mrs. Burton, “because it would give you an excuse to eat between meals.”