"Yes!" echoed Donald, "a story. We're bound to have it!"
"Hum!" muttered Liddy, much flattered. "Do you know your lessons?"
"Per-fectly!" answered the D's, in one breath. "We studied them right after Dr. Lane left."
"Well," began Liddy, casting a furtive look at the old mahogany clock on the mantel; "which story do you want? You've heard 'em all a score of times."
"Oh, not that kind," said Dorothy, playfully motioning to her brother, for you see by this time she was quite cheerful again. "We want a certain par-tic-ular story, don't we, Don?"
Instead of replying, Don took Dorry's outstretched hand with nonsensical grace, and so dancing to the fireplace together, in a sort of burlesque minuet, they brought back with them two little mahogany and hair-cloth foot-benches, placing them at Lydia's feet.
Ignoring the fact that these well-worn seats were absurdly low and small, the D's settled themselves upon them as comfortably as in the days gone by, when the benches had been of exactly the right size for them; and at the risk of upsetting the apples, pan and all, they leaned toward Liddy with an expressive "Now!"
All this had been accomplished so quickly, that Liddy would have been quite taken by surprise had she not been used to their ways.
"Bless your bright eyes!" she laughed, uneasily looking from one beaming face to the other; "you take one's breath away with your quick motions. And now what certain, special, wonderful kind of a story do you want?"
"Why, you know. Tell us all about it, Lydia," spoke Dorothy, sobered in an instant.