“No!” said Toto, brightening up at the prospect of a story. “What did happen to him? Tell me, Granny, please!”
“Come and hold this skein of yarn for me, then,” replied the grandmother, “and I will tell you as I wind it.
“Once upon a time there was a boy—”
“What was his name?” interrupted Toto.
“Chimborazo,” replied the grandmother. “I should have told you his real name in a moment, if you had not interrupted me, but now I shall call him Chimborazo, and that will be something for you to remember.”
Toto blushed and hung his head.
“This boy,” continued the grandmother, “invariably put the wrong foot out of bed first when he got up in the morning, and consequently he was always unhappy.”
“May I speak?” murmured Toto softly.
“Yes, you may speak,” said the old lady. “What is it?”
“Please, grandmother,” said Toto, “which is the wrong foot?”