who understand us so badly.'

The colonel, still much dissatisfied, growled, 'How about waiting?'

'We will wait,' answered little Alice, taking Nettie's hand in
hers, and looking up to the sky, 'we will wait - ever constant and
true - till the times have got so changed as that everything helps
us out, and nothing makes us ridiculous, and the fairies have come
back. We will wait - ever constant and true - till we are eighty,
ninety, or one hundred. And then the fairies will send US
children, and we will help them out, poor pretty little creatures,
if they pretend ever so much.'

'So we will, dear,' said Nettie Ashford, taking her round the waist
with both arms and kissing her. 'And now if my husband will go and
buy some cherries for us, I have got some money.'

In the friendliest manner I invited the colonel to go with me; but
he so far forgot himself as to acknowledge the invitation by
kicking out behind, and then lying down on his stomach on the
grass, pulling it up and chewing it. When I came back, however,
Alice had nearly brought him out of his vexation, and was soothing
him by telling him how soon we should all be ninety.

As we sat under the willow-tree and ate the cherries (fair, for
Alice shared them out), we played at being ninety. Nettie
complained that she had a bone in her old back, and it made her
hobble; and Alice sang a song in an old woman's way, but it was
very pretty, and we were all merry. At least, I don't know about
merry exactly, but all comfortable.