"Never mind, I dare say it'll be very nice," said Tom and I encouragingly.
"It's about a fly," said Racey. "It was a fly that lived in a little house down in the corner of a window, and when it was a fine day it comed out and walked about the glass, and when it was a bad day it stayed in its bed. And one day when it was walking about the glass there was a little boy standing there and he catched the fly, and he thought he'd pull off its wings, 'cause then it couldn't get away—that was dedfully naughty, wasn't it?—and he was just going to pull off its wings when some one came behind him and lifted him up by his arms and said in a' awful booing way—like a giant, you know—'If you pull off flies' wings, I'll pull off your arms,' and then he felt his arms tugged so, that he thought they'd come off, and he cried out—'Oh please, please, I won't pull off flies' wings if you'll let me go.' And then he was let go; but when he turned round he couldn't see anybody—wasn't it queer?—only the fly was very glad, and he never tried to hurt flies any more."
"But who was it that pulled the boy's arms?" said Tom, whose interest had increased as the story went on.
Racey looked rather at a loss. "I don't know," he said. "I should think it was a' ogre. It might just have been the boy's papa, to teach him not to hurt flies, you know."
"That would be very stupid," said Tom.
"Well, it might have been a' ogre," said Racey. "I made the story so quick I didn't quite settle. But I'll tell you another if you like, all about ogres, kite real ones and awful dedful."
"No, thank you," said Tom, "I don't care for your stories, Racey. They're all muddled."
Racey looked extremely hurt.
"Then I'll never tell you any more," he said. "I'll tell them all to Audrey, and you sha'n't listen."
"Indeed," said Tom, "I can listen if I choose. And when the new nurse comes she won't let you go on like that. She'll be vrezy cross, I know."