“Yelly belly, yelly belly, comin’ take a thwim!
Yith, by——”
“Oh, stop! Cissy, stop it! You mustn’t sing that!” he cried wildly.
She looked elfish.
“Why not? Dicky thingth it,” she said with a happy smile.
She had a heavenly habit, left from babyhood, of referring to her interlocutor and occasionally to herself in the third person.
“But girls mustn’t sing it,” he warned her sternly. “Don’t you dare to—it’s a secret.”
She danced farther away.
“Dicky thingth it. Thithy thingth it!” she persisted, and as he scowled she pursed her lips again.
“Yelly belly, yelly belly——”