The little girl came into her papa's study, as she always did Saturday morning before breakfast, and asked for a story. He tried to beg off that morning, for he was very busy, but she would not let him. So he began:
Well, once there was a little pig- She put her hand over his mouth and stopped him at the word. She said she had heard little pig-stories till she was perfectly sick of them.
Well, what kind of story shall I tell, then?
About Christmas. It's getting to be the season. It's past Thanksgiving already.
It seems to me, her papa argued, that I've told as often about Christmas as I have about little pigs.....
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