Matters were looking distinctly brighter, now Bruno had begun to argue. “Come, let's hear all about it!” I said.
“My foot took it into its head to slip—” Bruno began.
“A foot hasn't got a head!” Sylvie put in, but all in vain.
“I slipted down the bank. And I tripted over a stone. And the stone hurted my foot! And I trod on a Bee. And the Bee stinged my finger!” Poor Bruno sobbed again. The complete list of woes was too much for his feelings. “And it knewed I didn't mean to trod on it!” he added, as the climax.
“That Bee should be ashamed of itself!” I said severely, and Sylvie hugged and kissed the wounded hero till all tears were dried.
“My finger's quite unstung now!” said Bruno. “Why doos there be stones? Mister Sir, doos oo know?”
“They're good for something,” I said: “even if we don't know what. What's the good of dandelions, now?”
“Dindledums?” said Bruno. “Oh, they're ever so pretty! And stones aren't pretty, one bit. Would oo like some dindledums, Mister Sir?”
“Bruno!” Sylvie murmured reproachfully. “You mustn't say 'Mister' and 'Sir,' both at once! Remember what I told you!”
“You telled me I were to say Mister' when I spoked about him, and I were to say 'Sir' when I spoked to him!”