"What a pity you're thuch a gooth," said young Big Wig indignantly.
His sister and brother looked shocked, and the widow hopeless.
"What does he say?" she asked. "I can't understand his dear little gibberish."
Dovey didn't want to tell her that Big Wig had called her a goose, so she said falteringly, "I think Big Wig thinks that your three acre field was too much for the lamb."
Big Wig was going on, "My Daddy saith widowth mean to Conthanthy. She thould have let me cut grath with my mower."
"Did your father think I was wrong to ask the lamb to eat the grass in my field?" exclaimed the widow.
Dovey glanced at Sojer but he would not open his young mouth, so she said politely, "Dad thought Constancy was pretty small, and the field was pretty big. She was lost in that grass—and Dad thinks she's lonely. Why don't you put her with our sheep?"
"She's not lonely with that dog," said the widow bristling up.
"But that dogth our dogth," broke in Big Wig, "and we ith going to take him home."