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Rh “That’s so. Girls do fuss about dolls. My girls did.”

“How many dolls has your girls got?”

“Ha, ha! Not any, now. My girls all got grown up and big.”

During this calm, happy talk, a patrolman, coming up, said:—

“Shall I stick around, Your Honor? Any kidnapping facts?”

“I don’t know, just now. Wait around about an hour, and drop in again.”

So His Honor, Mayor of Branton Hills, and Childhood sat on that grassy lawn; a tiny tot making daisy chains, grass rings, and thrilling at Gadsby’s story of how a boy, known as Jack, had to climb a big, big tall stalk to kill an awfully ugly giant. Finally Gadsby said:—

“I thought you had a baby playing with you.”

“I did.”

“Huh, it isn’t playing now. Did it fly away?”

“Oho! No! A baby can’t fly!”

“No. That’s right. But how could a baby go away from you without your knowing it?”

“It didn’t. I did know it.”

Now, many may think that His Honor would