"Ugh! I hate 'em! Nathty squiggly things!" and she turned away abruptly.
Here was a nice beginning for you! My prized polliwogs, gathered at no small trouble, and already beginning to show the most interesting signs of froggishness, were dismissed as "nathty squiggly things!"
But I let the matter pass. I was determined to be polite,—polite and patient. I picked up a little box, covered with wire.
"Here is my snake box,—I've only got two now,—one green one and—"
I had no time to finish about the red one, nor to exhibit the snakes themselves. They were really the most harmless little fellows in the world,—neither of them over five inches long. One I had found under a fallen headstone in the old burying-ground, and the other I had obtained by swapping with Ed Mason,—giving a sinker, two fish-hooks, a turtle, and a piece of rock candy in exchange.
But as soon as I mentioned the snakes, this perverse female backed across the room, her eyes closed, and both ears stopped with the tips of her forefingers, as if she thought my pets might utter some fearful screech.
"Oh, snakth! Take 'em away! I don't want to thee 'em! I hate 'em. What do you have such nathty petth for? Why don't you have nice ones?"
This was insulting. I was far fonder of my pets than of this fussy little person. Moreover, I was doing my best to amuse her.
"I do have nice ones," I rejoined indignantly, "an' I've got a dog, an' a white rabbit, an' two guinea pigs out in the barn. Do you like any of those?"