“Oh, of course,” he said. “If you mix it with a spoon, I should say certainly. As far as a spoon goes, you know, I—ah—quite correct, I’m sure.” Here the poor fellow subsided into a vague murmur, and glared savagely at the raccoon.
But now the gentle wood-pigeon interposed, with her soft, cooing voice. “Toto,” she said, “were we not promised two stories to-day? Tell us the other one now, dear boy, for the shadows are beginning to lengthen.”
“I made this story myself, too,” said Toto, “and it is called
THE AMBITIOUS ROCKING-HORSE.
There was once a rocking-horse, but he did not want to be a rocking-horse. He wanted to be a trotter. So he went to a jockey—
“What’s a jockey?” inquired the bear.
A man who drives fast and tells lies.
He went to a jockey and asked him if he would like to buy a trotter.
“Where is your trotter?” asked the jockey.
“Me’s him,” said the rocking-horse. That was all the grammar he knew.