As they hurried away from the Goose's house, the children cast one last look behind them. There at the window was the Lady Goose waving in farewell the spoon she had stirred the hot worms with. Suddenly a whirl of white feathers flew out of the chimney, the window and the door, which the children in their haste had left open behind them, and hid her completely from their sight. At the same instant two feeble shrieks came from within the house.
"Squealer and Squawker both went into the heap that time, I guess," said Rudolf.
"I'm glad of it!" Ann cried. "I'd never help either of the horrid little things out again. Would you, sir?" she asked, turning politely to the Hare.
"I dare say not," he answered, yawning. "That is, of course, unless I had particularly promised not to. In that case I suppose I'd have to."
All three children looked very much puzzled.
"Would you mind telling us," asked Ann timidly, "what you meant when you said this"—and she touched her hair—"was not your business?"
"Not at all," said the Hare cheerfully. "I meant that it was."
"But you said—"
"Oh, what I said was, of course, untrue."
"Do you mean you tell stories?" Ann looked very much shocked, and so did the others.