The Younger Set
The blond-haired M.F.H. reached for his younger brother; the infant culprit avoided him and sullenly withdrew the sucked finger but not his fascinated gaze.
"I want to know who he ith," he lisped in a loud aside.
"So do I," admitted a tiny maid in stickout skirts.
Drina dropped the cat, swept the curly hair from her eyes, and stood up very straight in her kilts and bare knees.
"They don't really mean to be rude," she explained; "they're only children." Then, detecting the glimmering smile in Selwyn's eyes, "But perhaps you wouldn't mind telling us who you are because we all would like to know, but we are not going to be ill-bred enough to ask."
Their direct expectant gaze slightly embarrassed him; he laughed a little, but there was no response from them.
"Well," he said, "as a matter of fact and record, I am a sort of relative of yours--a species of avuncular relation."
"What is that?" asked Drina coldly.