“In dem times,” said Drusilla, as if to satisfy her own mind, “you couldn’t tell what nobody had skacely.”
“Why, as to that,” replied Mr. Rabbit, “the fiddle-string in his neck was news to Brother Terrapin.”
There was a pause here and the children seemed to be somewhat listless.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” remarked Mrs. Meadows to Mr. Rabbit; “these children here are lonesome, and they’ll be getting homesick long before the time comes for them to go. Oh, don’t tell me!” she cried, when the children would have protested. “I know how I’d feel if I was away from home in a strange country and had nobody but queer people to talk to. We are too old. Even Chickamy Crany Crow and Tickle-My-Toes are too old, and Mr. Thimblefinger is too little.”
BROTHER TERRAPIN TUMBLING INTO THE CREEK
“Well, what are we going to do about it?” asked Mr. Rabbit, running his thumb in the bowl of his pipe.
“I was just thinking,” responded Mrs. Meadows. “Hadn’t we better bring out the Looking-Glass family?”
“Well,” said Mr. Rabbit, “I leave that to you.” To hide the smile that gathered around his mouth Mr. Rabbit leaned his head over and scratched his left ear lazily with his left foot.