"No," said Peggy, doubtfully. "It wasn't as nice as this, but the white house was much prettier than this."
"How?" asked Hal.
"Oh!" said Peggy, letting her eyes and her fancy rove about together, "I think it was beautiful all over. It was all shiny white; the walls was white, and the carpets was white, and the tables and the chairs was white—all shiny and soft like—like——"
"Baby's best sash," suggested Hal.
"Well, p'raps—that'll do. And there was a cow and chickens and sheep, and a kitchen where you could make cakes, and a garden with lots of flowers and strawberries——"
"All white?" asked Hal.
"No, of course not. Strawberries couldn't be white, and flowers is all colours. 'Twas the droind-room that was all white."
"And the milk and the eggs. Zem is white," said Hal, triumphantly.
"Very well. I didn't say they wasn't. But the story goes on that the little girl didn't know how to get there; it was so far and so high up. So she sat and cried all alone at the window."
"All alone, poor little girl," said Hal, with deep feeling. "Kick, Peggy, kick, I'm 'doing to cry; make it come right kick. The crying's just coming."