Peter had a loose tooth. It was a lower front tooth. It was his first
loose tooth. He had always wanted one.
When Polly's teeth became loose, he would feel of his.
He would say, "I wish I could wiggle mine, too. I wish I could pull mine
out."
Mother said, "You are not yet old enough to lose your teeth. I am glad
that you are not. Why do you wish to have a loose tooth?"
"Because they are nice to wiggle," said Peter. "Because Polly is faster
than I am. She has had four. I like the holes in her face, too. She can
make a funny noise through them. It is a whistle."
"Your turn will come by and by," said mother. "I suppose you will lose
your upper front teeth first."
But it happened one day that Peter fell down. He bumped his nose. He
also cut his lip on a tooth.
He must have bumped that tooth quite hard, for it became loose. Peter
was much pleased.
"I should let it alone," said mother. "Perhaps it will grow tight
again."
But Peter could not seem to let it alone. He wiggled it with his tongue.
He wiggled it with his fingers. At last he made it very loose.