“I don't know.”
“You don't know, you awful papa! Well, then, what did the little girl eat?”
“She?” The papa freed himself, and made his preparation to escape. “Why she—oh, she ate goose. Goose is tenderer than turkey, anyway, and more digestible; and there isn't so much of it, and you can't overeat yourself, and have bad—”
“Dreams!” cried the little girl.
“Trances,” said the papa, and she began to chase him all round the room.