"Some day, perhaps," said Floss, and oh what dreams and plans and fancies hung on that "perhaps!" "Fancy, Carrots, we should go in the railway, you and me, Carrots, alone perhaps."
"Oh, Floss!" said Carrots, his feelings being beyond further expression.
That "some day" was a good way off, however, but "to-day" was here, and a nice bright-looking to-day it was. How happy they were! How happy Sybil was!
For, somehow, though she was dressed like a princess, though since babyhood she had had everything a child could wish for, though very often, I must confess, she had had "her own way," a good deal more than would have been good for most children, little Sybil was not spoilt. The spoiling dropped off her like water down a duck's back, and auntie never found out it had been there at all! Perhaps after all there is a kind of spoiling that isn't spoiling—love and kindness, and even indulgence, do not spoil when there is perfect trust and openness, and when a child at the same time is taught the one great lesson, that the best happiness is trying to make others happy too.
They played on the sands nearly all day, and Sybil, to her great delight, was covered up from damage by one of Carrots' blouses. The sun came out bright and warm, and they built the most lovely sand house you ever saw.
"I'd like to live in it always," said Carrots.
"Oh you funny boy," said Sybil patronisingly, "and what would you do at night, when it got cold, and perhaps the sea would come in."
"Perhaps the mermaids would take care of him till the morning," said Floss.
"What are the mermaids?" asked Sybil.
"Pretty ladies," said Carrots, "who live at the bottom of the sea, only they've got tails."