“Say, mamma, please. Wasn’t it Pauline and Molly?”
“I mustn’t tell you, little queeny.”
“Oh, dear! I hate that ugly thing over your face, mamma. You don’t look like my pretty mamma. You look like some other little girl’s mamma.”
“Do I?” Mrs. Rowe laughed. “And you look to me, fairy queen, like some other mamma’s little girl.”
“I hope Kirke won’t guess I’m his onty donty sister, mamma. Where is Kirke, I’d like to know.”
The longer Weezy watched the comers and goers, the more bewildered she grew. Here stalked a tall man in a white sheet, his face muffled in a pillow-case; and next him Weezy spied a yellow pumpkin marching on two feet. At least it appeared to be a pumpkin, only Weezy had never before beheld any pumpkin that had a boy’s head in place of a stem.
“O mamma, see! There’s a little girl looks just like a tulip! And there’s a little boy—O mamma, mamma, do see him! He’s all black and part yellow like a big sting-y bumblebee!”
Weezy hopped up and down too excited to keep still.
“I expect any minute to see her fly into the air on those gauze wings of hers,” remarked General Washington. And of course he meant what he said, for George Washington never told a lie.
“Don’t be uneasy about her, General,” responded the pretended Spanish lady playfully. “She won’t flutter far from the earth while these strange sights are to be witnessed.”