[CHAPTER VI.]
MILKING THE COW.
"What let's do now?" said the child.
They had had dinner; a most exciting dinner, all coming out of tin boxes and delightful china pots. It was almost as good as Little Two-Eyes' feasts in "Little Kid Milk, Table Appear," as the child preferred to call the story. The child shut her eyes and said what she wanted, and when she opened them, there it mostly was, standing on the table before her. At least, that was the way it happened when she said chicken, and jam, and Albert biscuits; but when she said sponge cake, there was none, and the dwarf was mortified, and said he would tell the people they ought to be ashamed of themselves.
"Where all do you get them?" asked the child. "Do you stamp your foot on the floor, and say, 'JAM!' like that, hard, just as loud as you can? do you? does it come up pop through holes? will you do it now, this minute?"
No, the dwarf could not do it now, he had not the right kind of shoes on. Besides, there were other reasons.
"Well, then, what let's do?" asked the child again.
"Let us go and milk the cow," said the dwarf.
Oh, that was exciting! Was it a truly cow? did it turn into things all day, and be a cow at night, or the other way? what did it turn into? Sometimes they were fawns and sometimes they were ducks, and sometimes—what would he like to be if he didn't have to be a dwarf? could he be things if he wanted to? was he only just playing dwarf, and by and by he would turn into a Beautiful Prince all gold and silver, wiz diamond clothes and a palace all made of candy? would he?
"And then you could marry me, you know!" said the child. "I shall be grown up by that time—"