"I think your cap is too hot," she began casually, and then proceeded
with increasing vivacity and conviction to the objects that worried her
most. "And those--those ruffles," she protested, "they don't look a bit
nice being so long!" Resentfully she rubbed an edge of the purple dress
between her fingers. "And a little girl like you,--with such bright red
hair,--oughtn't to wear--purple!" she admonished with real concern.

"Now whites and blues--and little soft pussy-cat grays--"

Mumblingly through her finger-muzzled mouth the Little Girl burst into
explanations again.

"Oh, but when I wear gray," she persisted, "the Parpa--never sees me!
But when I wear purple he cares,--he cares--most awfully!" she boasted
with a bitter sort of triumph. "Why when I wear purple and frizz my hair
hard enough,--no matter who's there, or anything,--he'll stop right off
short in the middle of whatever he's doing--and rear right up so
perfectly beautiful and mad and glorious--and holler right out 'For
Heaven's sake, take that colored Sunday supplement away!'"

"Your Father's nervous," suggested the White Linen Nurse.

Almost tenderly the Little Girl reached up and drew the White Linen
Nurse's ear close down to her own snuggling lips.

"Damned nervous!" she confided laconically.

Quite against all intention the White Linen Nurse giggled. Floundering
to recover her dignity she plunged into a new error. "Poor little