"Why not?" I became more than serious. "A daughter of ours has demanded for
a plaything a caged bird. Psychologically it is an important occasion. Now
or never must she learn to look upon a caged bird with horror. What I am
thinking of is the psychological effect upon the child's character. The
psychological--"

"You needn't worry about Veronica's psychology," said Kathleen. "Veronica's
psychology is in the right place."

"You misunderstand the meaning of the word," I said loftily. "However, if
you wish to wash your hands of Veronica's training, if you refuse to cope
with your own child, I must take it upon myself."

"Do," said Kathleen sweetly; "I'll listen."

* * * * *

It was Veronica's birthday. We were outside the bird-shop. The thrushes in
cages hung around the door.

Veronica lifted grave blue eyes to me trustingly. "You promised me a frush,
darlin'," she said.

Veronica is small for her name and has a disarming habit of introducing
terms of endearment into her conversation.

"You didn't quite understand me," I said gently. "I said I'd think about
it."

"Yes, but that means promising, doesn't it? Finking about it _means_