And now Mary says I have been very naughty." "It does not matter what Mary says," said Hester, with a withering glance towards the sleeping angel in the next crib, who was only Mary by day.

"But you must never do it again, and you will tell mother all about it to-morrow." "Yes," said Regie; "but, but--" "But what ?" "Uncle Dick did say it was a flying half-penny, and you said so, too, and that other auntie.

And I thought it did not matter putting in flying half-pennies, only common ones." Hester saw the difficulty in Regie's mind.
"It felt common when it was inside," said Regie, doubtfully, "and yet you and Uncle Dick _did_ say it was a flying one." Regie's large eyes were turned upon her with solemn inquiry in them.

It is crises like this that our first ideals are laid low.
Regie had always considered Hester as the very soul of honor, that mysterious honor which he was beginning to dimly apprehend through her allegiance to it, and which, in his mind, belonged as exclusively to her as the little bedroom under the roof.
"Regie," said Hester, tremulously, seeing that she had unwittingly put a stumbling-block before the little white feet she loved, "when we played at the doll's tea-party, and you were the butler, I did not mean you were _really_ a butler, did I?
I knew, and you knew, and we all knew, that you were Regie all the time." "Ye-es." "It was a game.

And so when Uncle Dick found us playing the tea-party game he played another game about the flying half-penny." "Then it was a common half-penny, after all," said Regie, with a deep sigh.
"Yes, it was a common half-penny, only the game was that it could fly, like the other game was that the acorn cups were real teacups.