“Oh, ever and ever so nicer!”
“And how many sweet kisses will you give me every day I’m good and don’t smoke?”
“Five hundred million thousand!” cried Posy, clapping her hands.
Papa smiled, and said that was one too many; and then he looked sober, for he had a great mind to begin, for Posy’s sake, to stop smoking. Dr. Field said the pipe was making him sick, and had often scolded; but Posy’s kisses touched him much more than the scoldings.
From this time he really broke off the habit entirely; and it was his little daughter who cured him.
One day Posy was crying on the street, as she was walking with Pollio; and, before she could wipe her eyes, Dr. Field crossed over, and asked,—
“Ah, what’s the matter, Mrs. Thumb?”
“She’s crying about your whiskers,” spoke up Pollio, who needn’t have told. “I said I was going to have some just like ’em when I grow up, and then she cried.”
Dr. Field laughed, and said,—
“Well, well, Mrs. Thumb, I suppose he will; but don’t cry about ’em till they begin to grow.”