“Goodness!” exclaimed Violet with delightful appreciation. “I’m so glad to talk to you because I have a little boy myself, but he isn’t as big as you—he’s only six weeks old.”
“Gee!” said the little boy with his angelic smile. “I never knew any one as little as that.” He stopped disapprovingly. “Why, that’s only a baby!”
“Ah, that’s what people call him,” said Violet, sagely; “they think he can’t even talk. Of course he doesn’t really say anything, but we have long conversations together—I always know what he means.”
The little boy nodded. “My mamma and I talk that way too,” he said simply.
“Then there’s another one—I wish you’d tell me what to buy for him—he’s about seventy or eighty years older.”
“But that’s an old man!” cried the boy in wonder.
Violet shook her head. “Oh, no! Of course, that’s what people call him,” she explained again, tolerantly; “but we know better.”
The boy looked at her debatingly. “Is it ‘Once Upon a Time,’ or is it ‘A True Story’?” he asked.
“It’s both,” said Violet.
Their eyes met this time in the joyousness of mutual understanding.