“I'm here!” said Sylvie, peeping over the edge of the bank. “I was just watching two Frogs that were having a race.”
“Which won it?” Bruno eagerly inquired.
Sylvie was puzzled. “He does ask such hard questions!” she confided to me.
“And what's to happen in the Theatre?” I asked.
“First they have their Birthday-Feast,” Sylvie said: “then Bruno does some Bits of Shakespeare; then he tells them a Story.”
“I should think the Frogs like the Feast best. Don't they?”
“Well, there's generally very few of them that get any. They will keep their mouths shut so tight! And it's just as well they do,” she added, “because Bruno likes to cook it himself: and he cooks very queerly. Now they're all in. Would you just help me to put them with their heads the right way?”
We soon managed this part of the business, though the Frogs kept up a most discontented croaking all the time.
“What are they saying?” I asked Sylvie.
“They're saying 'Fork! Fork!' It's very silly of them! You're not going to have forks!” she announced with some severity. “Those that want any Feast have just got to open their mouths, and Bruno 'll put some of it in!”