“What was it all about?” Miss Merriam inquired of Dicky.
“I don’t know,” replied Dicky, his own lip trembling as he tried to understand the rapid, thrilling experience.
“Tell Gertrude what happened,” Miss Merriam urged the baby, wiping away her tears and setting her down on her feet on the grass just as Christopher Columbus bumped his way over the sod to join them.
Ayleesabet’s conversational powers were not equal to the explanation, but her little hands could tell a great deal, and her caretaker was skilled in interpreting them. She pointed to the turtle and called him by the nickname that Dicky had given him, “Chriththy”; then she spread out her fat little fingers and waved a forward motion with her hand.
“Chrissy stuck out his head and legs and walked ahead,” interpreted Miss Merriam. “Where was he, Dicky?”
“In the chicken yard.”
Elisabeth was kneeling beside the turtle now, tapping his shell with a chubby forefinger; after which she rolled over on her back and screamed.
Miss Merriam shook her head at this demonstration, but Dicky translated it out of his previous experience.
“The chickenth hit hith thhell with their beakth, and, when he moved they were frightened and knocked her over,” he guessed.
“That’s just what happened, I believe,” said Roger, setting Elisabeth on her feet once more. “I’ve seen the chickens run like anything from Christopher, and probably they ran between the baby’s legs and upset her and then scampered all over her. I don’t wonder she was scared.”