“Thank goodness! I don’t sleep in no bed,” exclaimed Drusilla.
“That makes no difference,” said Mr. Thimblefinger. “If you sleep on a pallet just tap on the floor.”
“Please, Mister, don’t talk dat a-way,” pleaded Drusilla, “kase I’ll be constant a-projeckin’ wid dat tappin’, an’ de fus’ time you come I’ll holler fire.”
“Don’t notice her,” said Buster John, “she talks to hear herself talk.”
“I see,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger, tapping his forehead significantly and nodding his head.
“You kin nod,” said Drusilla defiantly, “but my head got mo’ in it dan you kin comb out.”
“I believe you!” exclaimed Mr. Thimblefinger, “I believe you!” He spoke so earnestly that Sweetest Susan and Buster John laughed, and Drusilla laughed with them.
“You dropped your knife,” said Mr. Thimblefinger. “I’m sorry of it. I can’t bring it up to you, but I’ll see if I can’t crawl under and get it out.”
With that he leaped nimbly from log to log and disappeared under the wood-pile. The children went down to see what he would do. They were so astonished at his droll appearance that they forgot their curiosity.
“Is that a fairy, brother?” asked Sweetest Susan in a low voice.