‘I caught it,’ said Phyllis, ‘but not to have it killed. Oh, take it away!’
‘A fine rout, indeed, you chicken,’ said Reginald; ‘I know a fellow who ate up five horse-stingers one morning before breakfast.’
‘Stingers!’ said Phyllis, ‘they do not sting anything, pretty creatures.’
‘I told you I would catch the old pony and put it on him to try,’ said Reginald.
In the meantime, Maurice came up at his leisure, holding his prize by the wings. ‘Look what a beautiful Libellulla Puella,’ said he to Jane.
‘A demoiselle dragon-fly,’ said Lily; ‘what a beauty! what are you going to do with it?’
‘Put it into my museum,’ said Maurice. ‘Here, Jane, put it under this flower-pot, and take care of it, while I fetch something to kill it with.’
‘Oh, Maurice, do not!’ said Emily.
‘One good squeeze,’ said Reginald. ‘I will do it.’
‘How came you be so cruel?’ said Lily.