"Johnny, you mean—you can have him for a kitten sir."
In an instant the fur cap was off, and a little mewing kitten was produced, for her wondering and delighted gaze.
"And the baby—he wouldn't be worth much to me—"
"Well, he is to me—but I'll sell him for a red cardinal sash and a little sister 'bout as big as Tilly White."
"Whew!" he exclaimed, "you most take my breath away! but here's the sash—a beauty, too—I don't happen to have any little sisters with me," feeling of the outside of his pockets, peering into his pack, and even taking off the great cap and shaking it as if a little girl might be folded up in that. "No, really I haven't a little sister about me, but don't you cry; I'll bring one round to-morrow—and now I must be picking up these brothers—where are they?"
"Baby Willie is in the back-yard in his carriage and Johnny and Harry are playing fooneral with him," said she, gravely.
"But that wasn't all; don't cheat me, little girl!" frowned the big freckled-faced man.
"No! I wasn't going to—Tommy—he's in the yard round the corner there with the big boys—he's 'leven—he's my greatest brother—he's a drefful
wicked boy—" Molly was going on with the bean-story very likely, but at that moment the funeral procession of a baby carriage and two followers filed up.
The great man darted forward, seized three-year-old Johnny and Harry in his arms, stuffed one head-first, the other legs-first, into the monstrous pack.