"Up on high
No neighbours pry
In at the window,
On the sly.
"Up on high
Bricks you shy
At bores and bailiffs
Passing by.
"Up in a tree
You're always free
From bores and bailiffs,
You'll agree.
"Up in the leaves
One never grieves
Over the pranks
Of puddin'-thieves.
"If you would be
Gay and free,
Take my tip and
Live in a tree."
"We will, we will," shouted the Puddin'-owners; but the Puddin' said sourly: "This is all very well, all this high falutin'. But what about the dreadful news of me being poisoned at ten-thirty this morning?"
"You ain't poisoned, Albert," said Bill. "That was only a mere ruse de guerre, as they say in the noosepapers."
A what?" demanded the Puddin', suspiciously.
"Let words be sufficient, without explanation," said Bill, severely. "And as we haven't time to waste talkin' philosophy to a Puddin', why, into the bag he goes, or we'll never get the story finished."
So Puddin' was bundled into the bag, and Bill said, hurriedly "Brilliant as our friend Bunyip has proved himself with his ready wit, it remains for old Bill to suggest the brightest idea of all. Here is our friend Ben, a market gardener of the finest description. Very well. Why not build our house in his market garden. The advantages are obvious. Vegetables free of charge the whole year round, and fruit in season. Eggs to be had for the askin', and a fine, simple, honest feller like Ben, to chat to of an evening. What could be more delightful?"