“I’ve been wondering, Tom,” she said at last, “where God keeps his babies that haven’t got any wings.”
“Why, babies don’t ever have wings, Posy,” said Tom.
“Yes, they do, the angel babies. I mean the ones he brings down here to people.”
“Oh!” said Tom, “I suppose he has some nice place to keep ’em in.”
“I should think,” said Posy thoughtfully, “that we might see Him when he goes around from house to house.”
“Why, of course we can’t,” answered Tom decidedly.
Posy played with the kittens in her lap.
“Come, Kitty, and have your bonnet on,” she said, folding her handkerchief over the head of one of the kittens and tying it under her chin. “Poor thing, you haven’t got a single dress after your name, and I must make you one. And I guess I’d better make some little cow-catchers around your forehead; they are very becoming to your little rosy face.”
“Cow-catchers!” laughed Tom. “You mean beau-catchers! What a little goosie you are, Posy!”
“I know that just as well as you can,” answered Posy, blushing; and she thought it best to turn the conversation.