When he got home Mrs Ffolliot retired to her room and cried long and heartily, but Ger never knew it. His spectacles to him were a joy and a glory, and he confided to the Kitten that his guardian angel, Sergeant-Major Spinks, did sentry beside them every night so that they shouldn't get lost or broken.
"My angel's in prizzen," the Kitten announced dramatically.
"In prison!" exclaimed Ger, "whatever for?"
"For shooting turkeys," the Kitten replied, "an' he's all over chicken-spots."
"Why did he shoot turkeys for?"
"'Cause he wanted more feathers for his wings."
"But that wouldn't give him chicken-spots."
"No, that didn't—he got them at a pahty, like you did last
Christmas."
"Poor chap," said Ger, "but I can't see why he stays in prison when he could fly away."
"They clipped his wings," the Kitten said importantly, "an' I'm glad; he can't come and bother me no more now."