They were on the second floor at the time, overlooking Hans and Mike, who had just brought up-stairs the first of the purchase, a huge, high-backed gilt chair, stately in its proportions--Spanish, Felix thought--with a few renovations about the arms and back, but a good specimen withal.

The chair had evidently excited her imagination, reminding her, perhaps, of some of the pictures in Tim Kelsey's fairy books, for after looking at it for a moment she began clapping her hands and whirling about the room.
"I've thought of such a lovely thing, Uncle Felix! Let's play kings and queens! I will sit in this chair and will dress Fudge up like a page and everybody will come up and courtesy, or I will be the fairy princess and you will be my beauty prince, and--" Felix, who was holding up the heavy end of a piece of tapestry while the two men were clearing a place for it behind the chair, called out, "When's all this to happen, Tootcoms ?"--one of his pet names; he had a dozen of them.
"Next Saturday." "Why next Saturday ?" "Because then I'm eleven years old, and you know that a great many fairy princesses are never any older." Down went the tapestry.

"Your birthday! You blessed little angel! Eleven years old! My goodness, how time flies! Pretty soon you will be in long dresses, with your hair in a knot on the top of your head.

You never told me a word about it!" "No, but I do now.

And I am just going to have a party--a real party.
And I am going to invite everybody, all the girls I know and all the boys and all the old people." Felix had her beside him now, her fresh young cheek against his.