And then, after a few further generalities, Aunt Adelaide prepared to leave, quite unconscious that she had said anything to wound or offend any one, and I was sent upstairs to fetch Georgie.
I knew that there was trouble as soon as I opened the nursery door. For Bobs in his little old flannel dressing-gown was sitting up very straight and white-lipped in mother’s big bed pretending to look at a picture-book; while Georgie, with red face and hands thrust deep in his knickerbocker-pockets, was standing by the window, pretending to look out.
“I’ll tell you something more you don’t know,” said Robin, glancing up from his book after a moment’s silence. They had neither of them seen me enter the room. “Shall I?”
“I know more’n you do!” chanted Georgie, monotonously.
“You don’t know what a Chimera is; and you don’t know what a Gorgon is; and you don’t know what a Hippogrif is; and you don’t know what a Ninkum is! You wouldn’t if you saw one! And you don’t know what a Siren is; and you don’t know what Syrian is, now neither! Do you?”
George seemed rather overpowered by this erudite outburst; but he reiterated stubbornly:—“I know more’n you do!”
“What’s a Very Imp?” asked Bobs, excitedly. “You don’t know! And what’s a Jabberwock? and what’s a Mockturtle?”
“You eat it in soup,” answered Georgie, brightening up a bit. “We had it the night the General came, and William let me taste some out of a teaspoon in the butler’s pantry,—so there!”
“Nonsense!” Bobs’ scorn was withering. “Maybe you’d eat a Ninkum in fish-cakes! We don’t! A Mockturtle was once a real turtle, and——”
But here I thought it best to interfere. “Aunt Adelaide is going, Georgie,” I said. “You had better come downstairs, now.”