She giggled naturally then, in the inane way that children often do, giggled again for effect and a third time because she rather liked the sound it made, or at least that's what it seemed to Harold. “Silly Daddy.”
“Silly? Why am I a silly Daddy?” He scooped her up and held her to his chest while he tickled her stomach. It only made her giggle all the more, although she dropped the kazoo and reached for it, the fingers of her left hand opening and closing like the grabber on a fairground soft toy crane.
“You said it was time for work and I don't have any work. I'm only little yet.”
“Old enough to clean chimneys, surely?”
“What's a chimbley?”
“Chimney. It what the smoke goes up when you have a fire.”
“Like a pipe?”
“Yes, exactly. A pipe made of bricks.”
Her frown only confused him for a moment. “Not a pipe like Uncle Frederick smokes. A big pipe that runs through the middle of a house.”
“Oh.” Her frown dissipated faster than a handful of candyfloss. “I dropped my kazoo.”
“And Daddy didn't step on it.” More's the pity.