Directly Mother came in, two white figures started up, and two eager voices called:-- "Now, Mother, tell us all about the Russian gentleman." A white shape hopped into the room.

It was Peter, dragging his quilt behind him like the tail of a white peacock.
"We have been patient," he said, "and I had to bite my tongue not to go to sleep, and I just nearly went to sleep and I bit too hard, and it hurts ever so.

DO tell us.

Make a nice long story of it." "I can't make a long story of it to-night," said Mother; "I'm very tired." Bobbie knew by her voice that Mother had been crying, but the others didn't know.
"Well, make it as long as you can," said Phil, and Bobbie got her arms round Mother's waist and snuggled close to her.
"Well, it's a story long enough to make a whole book of.

He's a writer; he's written beautiful books.