“It’s just that,” said Leigh.
“Yes,” said Artie.
“We thought he’d be ours, our very own,” said Mary, at last explaining what they were in trouble about. For though the three had said nothing to each other, each knew that the others were thinking and feeling the same.
“We meant to fetch him ourselves,” said Leigh again.
“We was going to give him his breakfast and dinner and tea in the nursery,” chimed in Artie.
“I was p’annin’,” added Mary, “that he’d sleep in our beds in turns. I didn’t tell Leigh and Artie. I were going to ’apprise them. But I meaned to let it be in turns.”
Papa began to laugh. So did Yakeman. They could not help it.
“Sleep in your cots,” said papa. “There wouldn’t be much left of the cots or you by the morning.”
“He wouldn’t eat us,” said Leigh, looking rather startled.
“Not exactly,” said his father. “But if he took to rolling on the top of you and making hay of the bedclothes—just look at him now tumbling about in the straw with his brothers—you would not be likely to have a very good night.”