"Oh, yes, I suppose so," sighed Helen. "Gladys, don't beat on the table with your spoon. The noise is distracting."
"And although your tones are dulcet, my love, suppose you give us that little song after breakfast," and Jean slipped into her place at her little sister's side.
Gladys turned and threw her arms around her.
"I didn't see you come in, Jeanie."
"That is because you have not eyes in the back of your head, pet."
"Of course I haven't. Nobody has, 'cept fairies and princesses, I s'pose," and Gladys straightened herself up, and, in so doing, overturned her glass of milk into her lap.
"Gladys," cried Helen sharply, "look at your nice, clean frock. It is a shame."
The little girl's lips trembled, and her bright blue eye overflowed with tears.
"You don't s'pose I did it a-purpose—for nothing."
"No, no, dear. Of course not. Don't cry. I didn't mean to scold you. There, get down and run up to Mary, like a good little girl, and have your frock changed," for the sight of tears always put an end to Helen's best efforts at severity.