Of the two wispy, affectionate memoirs included here the first at least is strictly for children who will go along with fanciful nonsense without asking why, how or wha- -. The youthful narrator of ""The Tooth,"" which is scarcely a story at all but more like a whimsical chat, is less concerned with the events -- his tooth comes loose and later falls out, to be replaced under his pillow by a nickel and four pennies instead of a dime -- than with his interpretation thereof: ""That night long ago when I went to sleep the tooth became my real self and the other self became a nickel and four pennies. It was as simple as that."" In ""My Father"" the same neatly knee-socked, sailor-suited little boy watches with his baby sister as his widowed father fires their overbearing nurse for criticizing his singing of ""Polly Wolly Doodle,"" then takes the children for a ride on his back around ""our liberated house."" Verrier's mostly blue and yellow crayoned-in drawings, her little boy all blue eyed and earnest and clearly not contemporary, her nurse changing from a uniformed woman to a puffy bird to an armored Valkyrie, maintain the required proportion of Saturday Evening Post nostalgia and tongue-in-cheek fantasy.