"I guess so," responded the boy, rather gruffly. He didn't wish Gladys to think him too good.
"It doesn't hurt them a bit," went on Faith, "but you know turtles are lazy. They're all relations of the tortoise that raced with the hare in Æsop's fable." Her eyes sparkled at Gladys, who smiled slightly. "And they aren't very fond of being horses, so we only keep them a day or two and then let them go back into the brook. I think that's about as much fun as anything, don't you, Ernest?"
"Oh, I don't know," responded her brother, who was beginning to feel that all this turtle business was a rather youthful pastime for a member of a baseball team.
"You see," went on Faith, "we put the turtles on the grass only a foot or two away from the brook, and wait."
"And we do have to wait," added Ernest, "for they always retire within themselves and pull down the blind, as soon as we start off with them anywhere."
"But we press a little on their backs," said Faith, "and then they put out their noses, and when they smell the brook they begin to travel. It's such fun to see them dive in, ker-chug! Then they scurry around and burrow in the mud, getting away from us, just as if we weren't willing they should. They are pretty silly, I must say," laughed Faith, "and it's the hardest thing to make them understand that you love them; but," her tone changed tenderly as she held up the baby prince, "you'll know I love you, won't you, dear, when I give you tiny little pieces of meat every day!"
The cloud on Gladys's face deepened.
"Come on, let's hustle and put the turtles away and go for a row. Do you like to row, Gladys?" asked Ernest.
"Yes, I guess so," she responded, rather coldly.
They ran up the hill to the side of the house where was a shallow tub of water with a rock in the middle, its top high and dry. There was also a floating shingle; so the steeds could swim or sun themselves just as suited their fancy. The upper edge of the tub was covered with tin so that sharp little claws could not find a way to climb out.