CHAPTER XIV.
BRUNO’S PICNIC.
“As bald as bald,” was the bewildering reply. “Now, Bruno, I’ll tell you a story.”
“And I’ll tell oo a story,” said Bruno, beginning in a great hurry for fear of Sylvie getting the start of him: “once there were a Mouse—a little tiny Mouse—such a tiny little Mouse! Oo never saw such a tiny Mouse——”
“Did nothing ever happen to it, Bruno?” I asked. “Haven’t you anything more to tell us, besides its being so tiny?”
“Nothing never happened to it,” Bruno solemnly replied.
“Why did nothing never happen to it?” said Sylvie, who was sitting, with her head on Bruno’s shoulder, patiently waiting for a chance of beginning her story.
“It were too tiny,” Bruno explained.
“That’s no reason!” I said. “However tiny it was, things might happen to it.”
Bruno looked pityingly at me, as if he thought me very stupid. “It were too tiny,” he repeated. “If anything happened to it, it would die—it were so very tiny!”
“Really that’s enough about its being tiny!” Sylvie put in. “Haven’t you invented any more about it?”