"I won't have a she," the Kitten said decidedly, for even at four years old she had already learnt that her own sex had small patience with her vagaries.
"You'll have to have what's sent you," Ger said solemnly.
"I won't have a lady angel, so there," said the Kitten, "I'll have a man angel."
"I daresay they'll let you," Ger said soothingly. "A great, big, kind man with wings like you said."
"Has yours got wings?" the Kitten demanded.
"I don't think so," said Ger, "he's not that sort; but," he added proudly, "he's got spurs."
"Will it stay in the nursery all night?" the Kitten asked again rather nervously.
"Of course that's what he's for, to take care of you, so that you'll feel quite safe and happy."
"Oh," said the Kitten, and her voice betrayed the fact that she found this statement far from reassuring.
She said nothing to her mother, and Mrs Ffolliot heard her say her prayers as usual, kissed her, blessed her, and tucked her in. No sooner, however, had Mrs Ffolliot gone down the passage than the most vigorous yells brought her back to the night-nursery, while both Nana and Thirza hastened there also.