"Now you've spoiled the exercises," said Robinson, peevishly. "I'm sorry I gave 'em such a staggerer to begin with."
"Pooh!" said Davy, contemptuously. "If they couldn't do that sum they couldn't do anything."
Robinson gazed at him admiringly for a moment, and then, looking cautiously about him, to make sure that the procession was out of hearing, said coaxingly:—
"What's the right answer? Tell us, like a good fellow."
"Two, of course," said Davy.
"Is that all?" exclaimed Robinson, in a tone of great astonishment.
"Certainly," said Davy, who began to feel very proud of his learning. "Don't you know that when they divide a whole into four parts they call them fourths, and when they divide it into two parts they call them halves?"
"Why don't they call them tooths?" said Robinson, obstinately. "The fact is, they ought to call 'em teeth. That's what puzzled the Goat. Next time I'll say, 'How many teeth in a whole?'"
"Then the Cat will ask if it's a rat-hole," said Davy, laughing at the idea.
"You positively convulse me, you're so very humorous," said Robinson, without a vestige of a smile. "You're almost as droll as Friday was. He used to call the Goat 'Pat,' because he said he was a little butter. I told him that was altogether too funny for a lonely place like this, and he went away and joined the minstrels."