"Take back your boys; send me the earthquake."
Aunt Eliza came up the walk and said to her small nephew: "Good morning, Willie. Is your mother in?"
"Sure she's in," replied Willie truculently. "D'you s'pose I'd be workin' in the garden on Saturday morning if she wasn't?"
An iron hoop bounded through the area railings of a suburban house and played havoc with the kitchen window. The woman waited, anger in her eyes, for the appearance of the hoop's owner. Presently he came.
"Please, I've broken your window," he said, "and here's Father to mend it."
And, sure enough, he was followed by a stolid-looking workman, who at once started to work, while the small boy took his hoop and ran off.
"That'll be four bits, ma'am," announced the glazier when the window was whole once more.
"Four bits!" gasped the woman. "But your little boy broke it—the little fellow with the hoop, you know. You're his father, aren't you?"