Run away, dear, and I'll tell you about it, some
other time."
But Mac festooned himself across the open box couch.
"No; sometime isn't ever, and I wants to hear it now. I do 'clare, mamma,
you've put in my best coat." And before she could stop him, he had
pounced upon it and pulled it out, upsetting a superstratum of gowns in
the process.
"Mac, let that be."
"But I want it, mamma. I want to wear it. I look just too sweet in it."
"Mac!"
"Well, vat's what Lizabuf said. Will Lizabuf go too?"
"No."
"Who will take care of me, and put me into my coatsleeves ven?"
"I shall."
"I'd ravver have Lizabuf. Oh, mamma, is vat your swishy dress? It's so
beautiful!" This time, Mac lost his balance and plunged headlong into the
trunk. For one moment, his chubby legs waved in the air; then his mother
seized him and set him down in a chair at the farther side of the room.
"Now, Mac, I want you to stay there," she said with decision.
There was a brief silence. Then Mac remarked,--
"You act and look awful bangy, to-day, mamma, just as if you were going
to sweep rooms right away."
Five days later, Mrs. Holden acknowledged to herself that she felt
"bangy." It was her first long journey without her husband and, less
independent than her sisters, she would have dreaded it in any case.
Without Mr. Holden, the trip was an undertaking; with Mac, it was almost
insupportable.
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