"Thirteen," said Dolly.
"No, no!" began Max, but he stopped. "That's it, you see, mamma," he said, in a melancholy tone.
"That's what?" asked mamma.
"The—the quarrel. Dolly will have it there were thirteen, and I'm sure there were only twelve."
"And," said Dolly, laughing a little—though I must say I think it was mischievous of her to have snapped in with that "thirteen"—"nurse heard about 'twelve' and 'thirteen,' but she didn't know what it was about, so she asked us if we couldn't split the difference. Fancy splitting up a poor little pig."
"There isn't one to split, not a thirteen one," said Max, rather surlily.
"Yes there is," retorted Dolly.
"My dear children," she said. "You really must be at a loss for something to quarrel about. And after all, you remind me of——"