"He will be a great merchant!" said his grandfather.
"Pooh!" answered Mother. "Buying and selling? My little George was not born for that."
He began to use paper and pencil, and then a paint-box.
"Ah!" said the aunt who had given him all these things. "George will be a great artist who will draw and paint most wonderful pictures."
"Rubbish!" replied Mother. "George was born to do something great. He can always draw pictures to amuse himself."
Then he learned to write, and wrote the most wonderful stories which no one except himself could understand.
"He will be a great writer and write stories which everybody will read," said his grandmother.
"I never heard such nonsense!" cried his mother, quite vexed. "Don't I tell you that he is going to do great things? Anybody can write stories; besides, he might sit up late at night and catch colds and I don't know what else if he began writing stories!"
Puck was delighted to hear them all guessing in this way, and laughed until he fell off the top of a big sunflower on which he was sitting.
"Oh, dear!" he cried. "How funny these big people are!" And he flew away into the wood to tell the fairies all about it.