“It was put somewhere up-stairs in the lumber-room, and your aunt has forgotten all about it. You might try with that.”
“And I’d stuff it again when I had found out all about it, uncle,” I said.
“To be sure, my boy,” said uncle, thoughtfully; “I wonder whether your aunt would want Buzzy and Nap stuffed if they were to die?”
“She’d be sure to; aunt is so fond of them,” I said. “Why, uncle, I might be able to do it myself.”
“Think so?” he said thoughtfully. “Why, it would make her pleased, my boy.”
But neither Buzzy nor Nap showed the slightest intention of dying so as to be stuffed, and I had to learn the art before I could attempt anything of the kind.