“You should squeeze yourself into less than nothing, and be nowhere, No. 8.”
The suggestion, (uttered with a jocose grin,) came from a small boy who had ensconced himself in the corner of a window, where he was sitting on his heels, painting the Union Jack of a ship in the Illustrated London News. He had certainly acted on the advice he gave, as nearly as was possible. Surely no little boy of his age ever got into so small a compass before, or in a position more effectually out of everybody’s possible way. The window corner led nowhere, and there was nothing in it for anybody to want.
“No. 8, I never saw anything so tiresome as you are. Why will you poke your nose in where you’re not wanted? You’re always in the way.”
“‘He poked his flat nose into every place;’”
sung, sotto voce, by the small boy in the window corner.
No. 8 did not stop to dispute about it, though, in point of fact, his nose was not flat, so at least in that respect he did not resemble the duck in the song.
He had not, however, been successful in gaining the attention of his friends down-stairs, so he dawdled off to make an experiment in another quarter.
“Why, you’re not coming into the nursery now, Master No. 8, surely! I can’t do with you fidgetting about among all the clothes and packing. There isn’t a minute to spare. You might keep out of the way till I’ve finished.”
“Now, Master No. 8, you must be off. There’s no time or room for you in the kitchen this morning. There’s ever so many things to get ready yet. Run away as fast as you can.”
“What are you doing in the passages, No. 8? Don’t you see that you are in everybody’s way? You had really better go to bed again.”