“Pipistrello, I will say I am sorry,” was the reply.
“And you won’t bear malice?”
“I will not bear malice—give me my bag.”
“One thing more. Will you let all the children sit up half an hour longer in winter, and an hour in summer?”
“It can’t be done—well, perhaps, if I must—yes, then; but the babies must go to bed a quarter of an hour earlier all the year round.”
“Please yourself about the babies,” said Pip. “Catch, Father Sandman!”
The next minute the old fellow, with his sack on his back, and a smile on his face, was trotting off to the town.
Sheila.
