"Ad-vertisements, dear," Amory corrected him. "Say ad-vertisements, not vertisements."
"Ad-vertisements," said Corin sulkily. "But—" and he cheered up again, "—she was, mother."
"Nonsense," said Amory. "And you're not to say 'Auntie' to Katie. It isn't true. Your Auntie is your father's or your mother's sister, and we haven't any.... And now you've played enough. Say good-night, both of you, and take Auntie Dickie's book, and ask Miss Belchamber to read you the story of the Robin and her Darling Eggs, and then you must have your baths and go to bed."
"I want the tale about Robin Hood, that Mr. Strong once told me," Corin demurred.
"No, you must have the one about the dear Dickie Bird, who had a wing shot off by a cruel man one day, and had to hide her head under the other one, so that when her Darling Eggs were hatched out the poor little birds were all born with crooked necks—you remember what I told you about the fortress in a horrible War, when the poor mothers were all so frightened that all the little boys and girls were born lame—it's the same thing—"
"Were there guns, that went bang?" Corin demanded. He had forgotten that the story contained this really interesting detail.
"Yes."
"Great big ones?" Corin's eyes were wide open.
"Very big. It was very cruel and anti-social."
But Corin's momentary interest waned again.—"I want Robin Hood," he said sullenly.