“Who is Pudgy?” asked the Bird, who was very curious.
“Why, my little bronze Golliwog, of course.”
“Golliwog! Golliwog!” exclaimed the Bird, putting his little blue head first on one side and then on the other. “Never tasted Golliwog! Don’t suppose it grows in these parts.”
“It isn’t to eat!” cried Coppertop, glancing nervously behind her as she hurried along.
“Not to EAT! Then what’s the use of it? Everything is to eat here, and everything eats everything else,” explained the Bird, “until there’s nothing else left to eat anything else!”
“What happens then?”
“Then! Oh, then we turn back and start the other way,” chirped the Bird, with an air of great wisdom.
But Coppertop found this more puzzling than the question as to which was being chased, she or the crocodile.
“Which is what you’d better do,” continued the Bird.
“Which—what?” asked the child, very much confused.