“Mr. French. The man what carried me when I was took ill sudden. He gave me it. I di’n’t know it was goin’ to go into your slipper. I wun’t of let it if I’d known. An’ I di’n’t know it was goin’ to bite your toe. It di’n’t mean to bite your toe. I ’spect it thought it was me givin’ it sumthin’ to eat. I expect——”
“Be quiet! What on earth did Mr. French give you the confounded thing for?”
“I dunno. I s’pect he jus’ wanted to.”
“He seems to have taken quite a fancy to William,” said Mrs. Brown.
“He seems to have taken a spite against me,” said Mr. Brown bitterly. “How many of the wretched pests have you got?”
“They’re rats,” corrected William, “White ’uns. I’ve only got two.”
“Good Heavens! He’s got two. Where’s the other?”
“In the shed.”
“Well, keep it there, do you hear? And this savage brute as well. Good Lord! My toe’s nearly eaten off. They ought to wear muzzles; they’ve got rabies. Where’s Jumble? He in the shed, too?” hopefully.