Iona, with the necessity for flattery still on her mind, here spoke:
"Of course we don't expect to know a quarter as much as you do," she said earnestly. "We are only children, and upstairs they call you the Wise Man."
The gnome (for that is what he was), stroked his beard, and his eyes shone with satisfaction. "Of course. They naturally would," he said. "What else could they call me?"
"O, what darling kittens," cried Iona, stooping to some little dark objects she saw on the ground near the table, and she smoothed the delicate, dainty fur. "O Pierre, did you ever feel anything so soft?"
The gnome stroked his beard again. It was a way he had when he was pleased. "You are certainly very ignorant," he said. "It is a good thing you came down here to learn a few things. Those are not kittens, they are moles."
"Why, so they are," said Pierre, "and would you mind telling us, Sir, what you meant by feeling the thunder? Where we live, we hear it."
"Why it shakes the earth, of course, and when I feel it vibrating all around me I know I shall soon be busy unless the storm passes around. You'd better get out now, for when the rain falls I shall have no time to teach you anything more and I can't employ such ignorant children as you are."
"Would you mind telling me what your workmen do?" asked Pierre. "You seem to be all alone."
"Somebody must be here to give directions, of course."