“We are making a beefsteak pie for our Christmas dinner,” said the Small Girl’s mother.
“And the onions are silver, and the carrots gold, and the potatoes ivory,” said the Small Girl.
“I am sure I don’t know what you are talking about,” said the Next-Door-Neighbor. “We are going to have turkey for Christmas, and oysters, and cranberries and celery.”
The Small Girl laughed and clapped her hands. “But we are going to have a Christmas pie—and the onions are silver and the carrots gold——”
“You said that once,” said the Next-Door-Neighbor, “and I should think you’d know they weren’t anything of the kind.”
“But they are,” said the Small Girl, all shining eyes and rosy cheeks.
“Run along, darling,” said the Small Girl’s mother, “and find poor Pussy-Purr-up. He’s out in the cold. And you can put on your red sweater and red cap.”
So the Small Girl hopped away like a happy robin, and the Next-Door-Neighbor said,
“She is old enough to know that onions aren’t silver.”
“But they are,” said the Small Girl’s mother, “and the carrots are gold and the potatoes are——”