But again began a “Well, but papa!” but, he exclaimed, “Do look at that boy—Well walloped, dragon!” as Jock with preternatural contortions, rolled, kicked and tumbled himself with extended jaws to the rock, alias stand, to which Polly was chained, she remarking in a hoarse, low whisper, “Naughty boy—”
“Well moaned, Andromeda!”
“But papa,” persisted Janet, “when Oliver Cromwell—”
“Oh! look at the Gorgon!” cried the mother, as the battered head of an ancient doll was displayed over his shoulder by Perseus, decorated with two enormous snakes, one made of stamps, and the other a spiral of whalebone shavings out of a box.
The monster immediately tumbled over, twisted, kicked, and wriggled so that the scandalised Perseus exclaimed: “But Jock—monster, I mean—you’re turned into stone—”
“It’s convulsions,” replied the monster, gasping frightfully, while redoubling his contortions, though Queen Mab observed in the most admonitory tone, touching him at the same time with her wand, “Don’t you know, Skipjack, that’s the reason you don’t grow—”
“Eh! What’s the new theory! Who says so, Babie?” came from the bottom of the table.
“Nurse says so, papa,” answered Allen; “I heard her telling Jock yesterday that he would never be any taller till he stood still and gave himself time.”
“Get out, will you!” was then heard from the prostrate Robert, the monster having taken care to become petrified right across his legs.
“But papa,” Janet’s voice was heard, “if Oliver Cromwell had not helped the Waldenses—”