Every afternoon at five o’clock, there is a pretty group on the hearth rug: a smiling baby, all pink and gold, waves dimpled hands of delighted welcome at the three “schule-weans” who cluster round him, bidding for his favour.
“Give Mahgint a kiss! “ pleads Blue-Eyes in her most coaxing manner, and a wet open mouth is obligingly presented all round.
“Pull Ooie’s hair, Winkie. Pull Ooie’s nose!” cries Brown-Eyes sprawling in front of him and lowering his head to allow the little fingers to clutch his yellow thatch and grip his nose with a force that wrings from him screams of laughing protest.
“Clap gannies, Winkie,!” they both cry. “Let’s see what a big boy Willie has grown.”
In his ardent efforts to let them see how big he has grown since the morning, his small body wintles over on the rug, to the huge delight of everybody, including himself.