“Never you mind, sir,” retorted Mrs. Pipchin. “Remember the story of the little boy that was gored to death by a mad bull for asking questions.”
“If the bull was mad,” said Paul, “how did he know that the boy had asked questions? Nobody can go and whisper secrets to a mad bull. I don’t believe that story.”
“You don’t believe it, sir?” repeated Mrs. Pipchin, amazed.
“No,” said Paul.
“Not if it should happen to have been a tame bull, you little infidel?” said Mrs. Pipchin.
“Berry’s very fond of you, ain’t she?” Paul once asked Mrs. Pipchin when they were sitting by the fire with the cat.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pipchin.
“Why?” asked Paul.
“Why?” returned the disconcerted old lady. “How can you ask such things, sir? Why are you fond of your sister Florence?”