“Neither you are, before—this is ‘after’.”
“After what?” cried Coppertop, feeling sure that she must be going mad.
“After to-morrow, of course!” replied the old Mother-bird, with surprised eyebrows.
“Oh, dear!” cried the poor, bewildered child, “what’s after to-morrow?”
“The day stupid! Haven’t you heard the old saying, ‘The day after to-morrow’? The day is always after to-morrow, but he never catches it.”
“Well, I’m after a December day, and I never catch that,” sighed Coppertop.
“Hush!” suddenly cried the old Mother-bird. “There goes the Mikado!”
“The Mikado!” exclaimed Coppertop; “why, he lives in Japan!”
“Well, isn’t this Japan, stupid?” snapped the old Mother-bird.
“Is it? I thought it was India,” said Coppertop, wearily, “nothing seems to be right. I’ve got feathers instead of hair, and I eat worms! I don’t believe I’m me at all! I must be someone else, but if I’m not ‘me,’ who am I?”