eddie's fault."

"Oh, my lilac tree is all gone!" cried the little boy. "And the boiler
to my fire engine, too," he added, referring to the flower-pot, which he
had used the day before when playing fireman.

At that moment, Dinah, the cook, came in from the kitchen.

"Well, I declar' to gracious!" she exclaimed. "If yo' chillun ain't gone
an' mussed up de floah ag'in!"

"Bert broke my boiler!" said Freddie, and began to cry.

"Oh, never mind, Freddie, there are plenty of others in the cellar,"
declared Nan. "It was an accident, Dinah," she added, to the cook.

"Eberyt'ing in dis house wot happens is an accident," grumbled the cook,
and went off to get the dust-pan and broom. As soon as the muss had been
cleared away Nan cut out the red table cover for Freddie, which made him
forget the loss of the "lilac tree" and the "boiler."

"Let us make a row of houses," suggested Flossie. "Bert's big house can
be at the head of the street." And this suggestion was carried out.
Fortunately, more pasteboard boxes were to be had, and from these they
made shade trees and some benches, and Bert cut out a pasteboard horse
and cart. To be sure, the horse did not look very lifelike, but they all
played it was a horse and that was enough. When the work was complete
they called Dinah in to admire it, which she did standing near the
doorway with her fat hands resting on her hips.

"I do declar', it looks most tremend'us real," said the cook. "It's a
wonder to me yo' chillun can make sech t'ings."

"We learned it in the kindergarten class at school," answered Nan.

"Yes, in the kindergarten," put in Flossie.

"But we don't make fire engines there," came from Freddie.

At this Dinah began to laugh, shaking from head to foot.

"Fire enjuns, am it, Freddie? Reckon yo' is gwine to be a fireman when
yo' is a man, hey?"

"Yes, I'm going to be a real fireman," was the ready answer.

"An' what am yo' gwine to be, Master Bert?"

"Oh, I'm going to be a soldier," said Bert.

"I want to be a soldier, too," put in Freddie. "A soldier and a
fireman."

"Oh, dear, I shouldn't want to be a soldier and kill folks," said Nan.

"Girls can't be soldiers," answered Freddie. "They have to get married,
or be dressmakers, or sten'graphers, or something like that."

"You mean sten_o_graphers, Bert. I'm going to be a sten_o_grapher when I
get big."

"I don't want to be any sten_o_gerer," put in Flossie. "I'm going to
keep a candy store, and hav