Which was undeniably true. The diminutive creature was not only in but engaged in tasting Judy's pencil. "Orridge," it said dubiously.
"No, dear. Pencil." Judy removed the implement from his grasp and made demonstrative marks on the paper.
"En-cil," the native agreed, putting out a small, slate-blue hand for it.
After a moment of hesitation, Judy allowed him to have the pencil. He took the paper and made marks of his own. "Oo-dee," he said proudly, handing the paper back to her.
His satisfaction was entirely justified, for on the paper there was a primitive but very life-like drawing of Judy herself.
"It isn't really so surprising," she said stoutly. "After all, they do live in caves.... And why are you wrinkling up your nose like that, Jane?"
"Oh, not the picture—it's just that—well—I didn't like to say it, but it is a little close in here and...." Jane looked apologetically at the native. He beamed at her. "I expect it's a difference in metabolism."
"I expect it's dirt," Judy contradicted. "I've often wondered whether they'd stay the same color if they were washed. Now's my chance to find out. How would you like a nice bath, dear?"
"Ath?" the creature repeated. "Orridge!"
"After your ath—bath, that is." Judy was already filling a large basin with warm water.