"Paupers," explained Cruikshank, "of that order of creatures to which the rat belongs."
"Well, why doesn't he say so?" she replied.
The fact that I had said so seemed to make no difference. I felt that I had been put in my place; especially when it was Bellwattle herself who changed the subject. She wanted to keep a cow, she said, declaring as the basis of her suggestion that it was so much nicer having one's own milk.
"But we only have to go fifty yards across to the farm to get it," said Cruikshank.
But that was not her point. I was conceited enough to imagine I knew all that lay in the back of her mind.
"Fifty yards is a long way," said I, "when you like cows for themselves."
She gave me a genuine glance of gratitude.
"And I love cows," said she. "I'd look after it. I'd feed it too. Do let me have one. I'd love to keep a diary."
"Just to record," said I, "what the cow does and thinks. It's quite natural."
"Don't be silly!" said she. "You know I mean a dairy. Cows don't think—do they?"