But I have wandered away from Herr Baby, and I am afraid you won't be pleased. He was forced, I was saying, to tell Denny a good many things, because he was most with her. I don't think he would have told her as much but for that, for Denny's head was a very flighty one, and she never cared to think or talk about the same thing for long together, which was not _at all_ Herr Baby's way. _He_ liked to think a good deal about everything, and one thing lasted him a good while.
"Him's been d'eaming such a lot," he said to Denny this morning.
"I think dreams are very stupid," said Denny. "What's the good of them? If they made things come _real_ they would be some good. Like, you know, if I was to dream somebody gave me something awfully nice, and then when I woke up I was to see the thing on my bed, _then_ dreams would be some good."
"But if zou d'eamed somesing dedful, like being shuttened up in a t'unk like _poor_ little mother, _zen_ it wouldn't be nice for it to come zeal," said Baby, who never forgot to look at things from both sides.
"No, of course it wouldn't. How stupid you are!" said Denny. "And how your head does run on one thing. I'm quite tired of you talking about mother being shut up in the trunk. Do talk of something else."
"Him can't talk of somesing else when him's sinking of one sing," said Baby gravely.
"Well, then don't talk at all," said Denny sharply, "and indeed I think we'd better be quiet, or Lisa will be coming in, and scolding us. It's only half-past six."
Baby did not speak for a minute or two. Then he said solemnly,
"When us goes away ac'oss the sea in the 'normous boat, him _hopes_ him won't sleep in the same zoom as you any more."
"I'm sure I hope not," said Denny snappishly. There was some excuse for her this morning, she was really rather sleepy, and it is very tiresome to be wakened up at half-past six, when one is quite inclined to sleep till half-past seven.
But Baby could not go to sleep again. His mind was still running on packing. If he could but have a _little_ box of his own to pack his own treasures in, then he would be sure none would be forgotten. He did not want a _big_ trunk--not one in which he could be shuttened up like mother, but just a nice little one. If mother would give him one! Stay--where had he seen one, just what he wanted, was it in the nursery or in the cupboard where Fritz kept his garden-tools and his skates, and all the big boy things which Baby too hoped to have of his own some day? No, it was not there. It must have been--yes, it was in the pantry when he went to ask James for a glass of water. Up on a shelf, high up it stood, "a tiny _sweet_ little t'unk," said Herr Baby to himself, "wouldn't mother let him have it?" He would ask her this morning as soon as he saw her. Then he lay still and thought over to himself all the things he would pack in the tiny sweet little t'unk; his best Bible with his name