"Would you like any of those?" asked Chrissie.
"I'd like anything, I think. At least I mean papa and mamma'd be sure to give me something nice. Of course, the present of presents would be—"
"We fixed not to speak about it, don't you remember?" said his sister quickly. "It's a bad habit to get into, that of fancying too much about impossible things you'd like to have."
"But this wouldn't be quite an impossible thing," said Ferdy. "I may get it some day, and one reason I want it so is that it would be just as nice for you as for me, you see, Chris."
"I know," said Christine. "Well no, it's not a couldn't-possibly-ever-be thing, like the magic carpet we planned so about once, or the table with lovely things to eat on it, that there's the fairy story about, though I always think that's rather a greedy sort of story—don't you?"
"Not if you were awfully hungry, and the boy in that story was, you know," said Ferdy. "But I didn't mean quite impossible in a fairy magic way. I mean that papa and mamma might do it some day, and it's rather been put into my head this morning by this," and he touched the riding-whip. "It's far too good for Jerry, or for any donkey, isn't it? I shall put it away till I have a—"
Chrissie placed her hand on his mouth.
"Don't say it," she said. "It's much better not, after we fixed we wouldn't."
"Very well," said Ferdy resignedly. "I won't if you'd rather I didn't. Now let us think over what it really will be, most likely. A—"
But no other guess was to be put in words, for just then came the well-known voices.