“You’re surely not going to make me wear my velvets, are you, Mum? Can’t I go just as I am, in my old clothes?”
The “velvets” was a brown suit of that material that Nora had made out of the least worn parts of an old costume of her own.
“Of course not: if you went as you are now, you’d have everyone staring at you.”
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to put up with it,” said Frankie, resignedly.
“And I think you’d better begin to dress me now, don’t you?”
“Oh, there’s plenty of time yet; you’d only make yourself untidy and then I should have the trouble all over again. Play with your toys a little while, and when I’ve done the washing up I’ll get you ready.”
Frankie obeyed, and for about ten minutes his mother heard him in the next room rummaging in the box where he stored his collection of “things”. At the end of that time, however, he returned to the kitchen. “Is it time to dress me yet, Mum?”
“No, dear, not yet. You needn’t be afraid; you’ll be ready in plenty of time.”
“But I can’t help being afraid; you might forget.”
“Oh, I shan’t forget. There’s lots of time.”