“We'd better come as—common children,” Sylvie thoughtfully replied. “That's the easiest size to manage.”
“Could you come to-day?” I said, thinking “then we could have you at the picnic!”
Sylvie considered a little. “Not to-day,” she replied. “We haven't got the things ready. We'll come on—Tuesday next, if you like. And now, really Bruno, you must come and do your lessons.”
“I wiss oo wouldn't say 'really Bruno!'” the little fellow pleaded, with pouting lips that made him look prettier than ever. “It always show's there's something horrid coming! And I won't kiss you, if you're so unkind.”
“Ah, but you have kissed me!” Sylvie exclaimed in merry triumph.
“Well then, I'll unkiss you!” And he threw his arms round her neck for this novel, but apparently not very painful, operation.
“It's very like kissing!” Sylvie remarked, as soon as her lips were again free for speech.
“Oo don't know nuffin about it! It were just the conkery!” Bruno replied with much severity, as he marched away.
Sylvie turned her laughing face to me. “Shall we come on Tuesday?” she said.
“Very well,” I said: “let it be Tuesday next. But where is the Professor? Did he come with you to Fairyland?”