The child walked slowly to her mother’s side, with disconcerting dignity, all out of proportion to her four brief years.
“What do you mean by acting like this when I give you a birthday party? There is everything on earth ordered to eat, and all the children in the colony are asked to come and play with you, and you make a monkey of yourself.”
“I won’t go.”
“Why won’t you go?”
“You didn’t ask Patsy.”
“You can’t ask that common little Irishman to a party,” objected her parent.
“I won’t go. He’s my friend. I like him best, an’ if he don’t come, I won’t go.”
“But it’s your party——”
“I hate ’em.”