“Cow, sea-cow, that reminds me,” cried Uncle John Philip, and he darted into his study. Dorothy did not see him again until supper.
But she did not give up hopes, and the very next day she asked him for a fairy story.
“Fairies, nonsense,” said the great professor, “there are no fairies.”
“O uncle,” cried Dorothy in grieved surprise, “how can you say that? Aunt Polly says there are, and besides it tells all about them in my Santa Claus book.”
“Tut, tut, tut,” said the wise professor.
“But, uncle dear, don’t you love dear old Santa Claus and Mother Goose?” pleaded the wistful voice.
“Rubbish, romance,” muttered the learned man.
Dorothy waited to hear no more. She ran out of the room, and never stopped until she reached her own little playroom. She felt terribly disappointed.
“My uncle doesn’t believe in the lovely fairies,” sighed poor little Dorothy, “he’ll never have nice times, will he, Susan Ida?”
The doll thus addressed, stared in blank amazement, and Dorothy somehow felt better for Susan Ida’s sympathy.