'I came with Pollie.' Before I could stop him or guessed what he was going to do, he was off to the door, which he had left wide open, and had started to bawl,' Pollie! Pollie! Here's dad! Here's dad!'
Children have a pleasant habit of bawling. But I don't think I was ever so struck by it as I was then. I was after him like a shot.
'Here, I say. You mustn't make that noise!'
I might as well have talked to the wall. When he'd got a thing to mention he was bound to mention it--at the top of his voice.
'I'm playing hide-and-seek with Pollie, and she won't know where I am. Pollie! Pollie! Here's dad!'
I had to throw him up in the air before he'd stop. By then it was too late. Tearing down the stairs came Pollie, my heart in my mouth for fear she'd tumble, and if I'd shut the door in her face she'd have dashed herself against it. I had to let her in, and shut the door behind her when she was in, and hope that there was nobody about with long ears and sharp wits.
'Allow me to ask what you young persons mean by behaving in this extraordinary manner; for whom do you take me?'
'You're dad! dad! dad!'
There they were, bouncing about me like two indiarubber balls. They still thought I was playing the game. The worst of it was, I almost felt as if I was, myself. I could hardly keep my countenance, in spite of the stake which was dependent on it.
'Pray may I inquire why you call me dad?'