He just stuck his nose into old Hagar's wikiup--and one sniff seemed to be about all he wanted.

He didn't hurt anything." He took a meditative bite of cake, finished the buttermilk in three rapturous swallows, and bethought him of the feminine mystery.
"If you please, Mother Hart, who was that Christmas angel I squashed ?" "Vad?
Was Vad in on it, mum?
I never saw her." Wally straightened up with a fresh chunk of cake in his hand.

"Was she scared ?" "Yes," his mother admitted reluctantly, "I guess she was, all right.
First the squaws--and, poor girl, I made her shake hands all round--and then Grant here, acting like a wild hyena--" "Say, PLEASE don't tell me who she is, or where she belongs, or anything like that," Grant interposed, with some sarcasm.

"I smashed her flat between me and the wall, and I scared the daylights out of her; and I'm told I should have appeared at my best.

But who she is, or where she belongs--" "She belongs right here." Phoebe's tone was a challenge, whether she meant it to be so or not.