"If even they get a little tired they may run about," said her godmother. "But I don't think they will. It is a sort of nonsense story, not clever enough to tire any of you."
"What's it called, please?" said Maudie.
"I'm not sure that it has a name," said Magdalen, "but if you'd rather it had one, we'll call it 'The Chintz Curtains.'"
"Please begin then, and say it in very little words for Hec and Duke to understand, won't you?"
Magdalen nodded her head, and began.
"Once," she said, "once there was a little girl."
"That's how my story began," said Hoodie, with the funny twinkle in her eyes again.
"Never mind, don't interrumpt," said Maudie.
"Well," Magdalen went on, "this little girl had no brothers or sisters, and though her father and mother were very kind to her she was sometimes rather lonely. And she often wished for other children to play with her. It happened one winter that she got ill—I am not sure what the illness was—measles, or something like that, it wasn't anything very, very bad, but still she was ill enough to be several days quite in bed, and several more partly in bed, and even after that a good many more before she could get up early to breakfast as usual, and do her lessons and run about in the garden, and play like well children. She didn't much mind being ill, not as much as you would, I don't think. For, you see, except just for the few days that she felt weak and giddy and really ill, staying in bed didn't seem to make very much difference to her, indeed in some ways it was rather nicer. She had lots of storybooks to read—several of her friends sent her presents of new ones—and certainly more dainty things to eat than when she was well—"
"Delly?" said Hec. "Duke and me had delly when we was ill."