“You may just be patient for a while, Master Leigh,” said nurse; “you know your papa’s promised you a pony when you’re ten years old, and by that time baby will be nearly two.”
“That won’t matter,” said Leigh, “even Mary won’t be able to ride my pony. It’s to be a real sensible one, not a stupid donkey sort of pony, with panniers or a basket on its back.”
“No,” said Artie, “it’s to be a galoppy-trot one! Won’t we make him go, Leigh.”
“I shall,” said Leigh; “you won’t have much to say to it. You’ll be too little too.”
Artie’s face fell. Mary, who was sitting beside him, slipped her little hand into his.
“Nebber mind, Artie,” she said. “We’ll ask papa to give us anoder pony. A very gentle one for you and me and baby.”
“A perambulator will be more in baby’s way,” said nurse. “Miss Mary’s old one is quite worn out and they do make such pretty ones nowadays. I hope your mamma will get her a very nice one.”
“And may we push it sometimes?” said Artie, brightening up again, “that would be nice.”
Leigh gave a little laugh.
“What a baby you are, Artie,” he was beginning, but nurse, who saw that he was in one of his teasing humours, looked up quickly.