But Ann didn’t listen. She just picked Isabelle up in her arms, and hugged her tight, kissing her over and over again.
“You poor baby—you poor little mite!” she said over and over.
But after the first shock of surprise, Isabelle rebelled.
“Don’t! Put me down! I don’t like to be kissed!” she cried.
Ann set her down and knelt before her.
“Why don’t you like to be kissed?” she demanded.
“Because”—defiantly.
“Isabelle, have you ever been rocked and sung to and tucked into bed at night?”
Isabelle shook her head, her big eyes fixed on Ann’s face, so full of emotion.
“Did you ever have anybody tickle you awake, in the morning, and kiss you until you laughed?”