"'A' was an Archer who shot at a Frog," I recited, in a timid whisper.
The twins and I had learned that out of a pink book with blue edges. The archer was dressed in red, and the frog was green with yellow trimmings. I could, also, say the catechism from cover to cover, if she would like to hear that, and Who Killed Cock Robin. I had never supposed that anybody but my mother cared for such things. She loved to have us say them to her.
"And 'b'?" Madame Tomaso inquired, staring.
"'B' was a Butcher who had a big Dog," I went on, with growing confidence.
I did not feel nearly so frightened now. She was rather nice. If I were very good, maybe she would not eat me after all.
"Don't you know your letters?" she demanded, in astonishment. "Don't you go to school?"
"No," I answered, sadly. "I am not strong."
"Ah! Bah!" she cried, in a rude way.
I was sure, perfectly sure, that even a Hottentot would never have said that.