"Uncle is too good to us. The first time he came to see the babies, he brought so many big dogs." Michael squeezed the dog whistle between his thumb and forefinger, his face lighting up with a cherub-like grin that was sure to melt any adult's heart. "They say the dogs are trained, and a puff on this wee whistle can command them to do whatever we want. Dear sister, do you believe it?"
Victoria pouted purposefully. "I don't believe it! It sounds miraculous, who would believe it? Why don't you give it a puff so I can see?"
Upon hearing these comments, Michael bristled with indignation and responded, "Hmph, then I'll puff it. And then we'll see if you believe I can or not."
Victoria Talkington, alarmed by the back-and-forth between her children, attempted to intervene by raising a feeble hand. "No, don't blow...don't..."
But Michael was far from interested in her protests. His discussion with Victoria was merely a ploy to trick their silly father.
