"Fwhat?"
"Playing a play, dear. We'll make believe you're the queen with a gold crown on your head."
Katie put her hand to her forehead.
"O, no, dear; you haven't anything on your head now but the broadest-brimmedest kind of a hat; we'll call it a crown. And I'm the king that's married to you."
"O, yes, mallied."
"And we're going—going—"
"Rouspin," suggested Flyaway.
"No; great people like us don't go raspberrying. Sit down here, Queenie, under this acorn tree, and I'll tell you; we're going to the castle."
"O, yes, the cassil?"
"Where we keep our throne, dear, and our gold dresses."