"So it was—her grandmother. Don't hesitate about setting me right any time, Philip."
"No, sir, I won't. I see you don't know it very well."
"H-m. Well, this little girl went over one day to take her aun—her grandmother some flowers—"
"Unker Wichard," said Philip in a tone of real distress, "it wasn't flowers! It was a pot of butter."
"I believe you are right. Well—"
The story went on haltingly, and with many corrections and amendments. It seemed incredible to Philip that anybody could tell a story so poorly.
Once when the thrilling part was reached detailing the colloquy between the little maid and the wicked wolf, Mr. De Jarnette unhappily dropped into the indirect quotation—a thing that has spoiled many a dramatic passage in the pulpit.
"—So when the little girl asked the wolf what made his eyes so large he told her it was so that he could see everything."
Philip had been sorely tried before. But at this mangling of a fine thing he cried out in utter exasperation,
"Unker Wichard! That isn't the way! Little Wed Widing Hood says, 'Gwandmother, what makes your ey-y-es so big?'" His own matched the wolf's. "And then the old wolf says, 'To se-e-e the better, my dear!'" His voice was terrible to hear.