Kids. Yaas, Miss Ida, like the bounding fawn that—that—weally, I forget what the bounding fawn was doing—O, weally, bounding, of course. That’s very good—isn’t it?—owiginal, too. But where was the bounding fawn bound? that’s the question.
Ida. I wish I could answer your question, but, not being versed in natural history, I am unable to say.
Kids. Weally. Well, never mind the fawn. Listen, O, listen! I’m a miserable wetch, I am.
Ida. Miserable? you?
Kids. Yaas, weally. I’m standing—I’m standing,—where am I standing?—O, on the bwink of a howid pwecipice.
Mulligrub (sticking his head above screen). Hallo! another brink, another precipice, and—Ida, as I live.
Ida. La, Mr. Kids, what a dangerous position.
Mulligrub (aside). Kids; then it’s not Dip, that’s certain.
Kids. O, dweadful, dweadful. But you can save me.
Ida. How, Mr. Kids?