“I don’t know about that,” said the mole; “but we are.”
“Oh yes; and so is the rat, and the frog, and the peewit, and”—
“I am glad to hear it,” said the mole. “I should not have thought so.”
“Oh! but they are really,” Tommy Smith went on eagerly. “Do let me tell you how the peewit”—
“I have nothing to learn from him, I hope,” said the mole; “a poor foolish bird who wastes all his time in the air.”
“Oh, but if you only knew how the mother peewit”—Tommy Smith was beginning again.
“I should be sorry to take her as an example,” said the mole sharply; “she is a flighty thing, without solid qualities. Other animals may be all very well in their way,” she went on, after a pause, “but they are not moles, and they none of them know how to dig.”
“Oh, but the rabbit”—
“The rabbit, indeed!” cried the mole very indignantly. “Why, what can he do? He can just make a clumsy hole, and that is all. He is a mere labourer; and I hope you do not compare him with a real artist like myself.”
“Oh no,” said Tommy Smith; but he thought the mole was very conceited.