"Poor little 'weet darling," he would call it; "Celia's a c'uel girl to d'ive Minet away, Minet wouldn't hurt the calanies, or the Bully, or the sleepy-mouses; Minet is far too good."
"Pray, how do you know, Baby?" Celia would say. "Cats are cats all the world over, every one knows that."
"Minet aren't," Baby would have it, "Minet has suts a kind heart. Him asked Minet if her would hurt the calanies and the sleepy-mouses, and her said 'no, sairtingly not.'"
"Baby!" said Denny, "what stories! Cats can't talk. You shouldn't tell stories."
"Minet can talk," said Baby. "When him asks for somefin, her says 'proo-proo-oo,' and that means 'yes,' and if her means 'no,' her humps up her back and s'akes her tail. When him asked Minet if her would like to hurt the calanies, her humped up her back never so high, and sook and sook her tail, for no, no, NO!"
Celia could not find an answer to this. Baby went on stroking Minet with great satisfaction, as if there was nothing more to be said.
"All the same," said Celia at last, "I don't want Minet to come upstairs. She's quite as happy downstairs, and, you see, it would frighten the birds and the dormice if they saw her, for they mightn't understand that she wouldn't, on any account, hurt them."
"Werry well," said Baby, and he went on playing with his new pet.
"Herr Baby," said Lisa coming into the room a moment or two later; "mine child, how is it that your coat is so dirty? All green, Herr Baby, as if you had rubbed it on the wet grass."
"It's with his poking in among the bushes by the kitchen window," said Denny of the ready tongue; "yesterday, you know, Baby, when you thought——"