“O, I do wish I could yawn!”
“Why don’t you?”
“I can’t,” replied Arabella. “My fan isn’t here. I forgot to bring it.”
“Do you have to have that before you can yawn?”
“You said so,” was the answer. “You said I gave nothing but gentle yawns behind my fan.”
“O, I’d forgotten,” said the Child. “But what makes you want to yawn?”
“Because I’m sleepy, you little goosey,” returned Arabella impatiently. “I guess you’d be sleepy, too, if you could never have a wink of sleep from one week’s end to the other!”
“I guess I would,” the Child confessed. “But why can’t you sleep when you want to?”
Arabella eyed the Child with astonishment. “I should think you’d know,” she said. “You don’t seem to remember that my hair is spun gold, and how could I ever get it combed again if I should lie down and get it all tangled? It would be so much nicer if it were just hair. Don’t you think you could—”