"Yes," said I, for there was nothing else to be said.
"Kit—ty," says he a fourth time, very slow, as if he didn't know how to get it out.
And then all of a sudden I began to have a notion what was coming, and I didn't want it to come.
"Oh, look there!" I cried out.
"Where?" says he, and he stared all around.
"There; those clouds," I said. "Oh, look! Aren't they funny? There's one just exactly like a big whale, and a cow running after it, and a mountain beyond. Oh, and a blue pond, and a lot of little fishes in the pond."
"Kitty, do hear; it don't matter about the clouds," says he.
"But you're not looking. Do look," cried I, rattling as fast as I could speak. "Look, it's the very image of a whale. Can't you see?"
"No," says he, staring; "I don't see no whale, nor anything like a whale. There's only a lot of stupid clouds."
"But clouds are not stupid," said I. "Not stupid at all. The clouds are made of water or snow. Father says so. That's where our water comes from. We should be in a nice taking if we never had any clouds, shouldn't we?" and I laughed at him, and ran up a bank to pick a daisy.