"Oh!" cried Sally. "Let's suppose he did. And what did he see from his topmost branch?"
"Very little," replied the professor, "except treetops and a swamp or two."
"Well," said Sally, "it's rather disappointing. But I wish I could have seen it."
"Then," said her father solemnly, "there would now be nothing left of you but a skeleton which I would be puzzling my brains over. It would be somewhat disconcerting, Sally, to find a skeleton of a little girl among these bones of a past age; very disconcerting, indeed, to find that of Miss Sally Ladue."
"But how would you know it was Miss Sally Ladue's skeleton?" asked Sally, her eyes twinkling.
"That is a poser," her father answered. "I should know it, though. If there were no other means of identifying it, I should know it for Miss Ladue's by the large bump of inquisitiveness on the skull."
"What's my bump of inquisitiveness?"
The professor turned towards her. "Hand me that skull on my desk, and I'll show you." Sally obediently handed him the skull. "There it is," he continued. "You can see it, although it is not as large as your own. Come here and let us see if it is."
Sally came.
"The phrenologists," he began, feeling of her head, "would—hello!"