“You see, I didn’t say a word that wasn’t true. I was very careful about that. I knew how Uncle John hated nature-fakirs.”
“Nancy, what is a nature-fakir?” asked Cicely, who often had to have American words translated for her.
“A nature-fakir? Why, he’s somebody who mixes up fact and fancy without calling it a fairy-story,” explained Nancy. “Uncle John says that isn’t playing fair.”
“I should call those unfairy stories,” said Cicely. But the Club warned her with a howl that she was talking too much like Dick.
“Well,” went on Nancy after this interruption had been punished, “when Uncle John heard that word moccasin he scampered down the walk to the riverbank faster than any old man you ever saw! And as he ran he cried ‘Don’t hurt him, Jack! Don’t bruise him! I want to see that moccasin alive, just as he is.’
“‘I’ve got him!’ cried Jack. ‘I’m holding him. I won’t hurt him. But hurry up!’
“As Uncle John drew near he caught sight of the grey fur around the top of the moccasin, for he has sharp eyes. ‘Gracious!’ said he, ‘That’s the queerest-looking snake I ever saw!’ Then as he came close he guessed what it was. ‘It’s a joke of that Nancy!’ he shouted. ‘Wait till I catch her, the good-for-nothing girl!’ And he chased me all the way back to the house. But he couldn’t catch me!” Nancy giggled at the memory of that chase.
“You ought to have sent him a pair of moccasins to keep his feet warm,” suggested Beverly. “I think you owed it to him, Nancy. It was mean to tease a great man so!”
“It would have been mean if he had minded,” said Nancy. “But he was a great man every way; and he acted like a dear about it. He loved to tell this story on himself. I made a limerick about it. This is the way it goes:”
“A man with a hobby like Thoreau’s