“No, not George Washington, but like that. A Bible story. We can’t be Joseph and his Brethren,” Hazel went on musing, “there’re too many of them. I don’t like Jacob—”
“I’ll be King Solomon,” Charity exclaimed quite suddenly.
She sat in the arm chair and held herself erect. Taking her bandanna she wreathed it in a turban about her head.
“That’s splendid, Charity,” Hazel said heartily. “That’s your crown and you’re sitting on your throne. Now who shall I be?”
“You? Why, of course, you’ll be the Queen of Sheba.”
Hazel laughed gleefully. “I’ll be a real queen, won’t I? What’ll I do, Charity?” Her friend’s knowledge of Bible history was evidently greater than her own.
“You ask me questions,” Charity explained, “all sorts of questions, and I answer them.”
“But what do I wear?”
“Let me recollect.” Charity shut her eyes to think the harder. “The Queen of Sheba she come to Jerusalem, with, with a very great train. You must wear a train, Hazel.”
“There isn’t a thing with a train here,” Hazel replied mournfully.