Tommy disliked being ignored. “It hasn’t got no eggs in it, ’tis empty; ef there was eggs in ’e I should know what ’twas.”
“My daddy, he knows of a nest up here wanst,” Ruthie continued, “that had twelve eggs in it, twelve speckly eggs.”
“Oh, Ruthie, as many as twelve?”
“Yes, just so many as twelve.”
“But what a very improvident mother-bird!” Miss Margaret objected. “How would she ever manage to feed twelve babies? And think of the very hard work it would be for the father to teach twelve children-birds to sing.”
All this time Jimmy was pulling his load uphill, trotting every now and again, as though he were thoroughly enjoying the morning’s work.
When the top of the hill was in sight, “Which way do we turn, to the right or to the left, Tommy?” asked Miss Dorothea.
“To the left,” replied Tommy, without hesitation.
“How do you know which is your right hand and which is your left?”