William came in with a business-like air—his large cardboard box under his arm—and began to hunt among her garden plants.
“Would you call a tortoise an insect?” he said suddenly.
“If I wanted to,” she replied.
“Well, I’m going to,” said William firmly. “And I’m going to call a white rat an insect.”
“I don’t see why you shouldn’t—it might belong to a special branch of the insect world, a very special branch. You ought to give it a very special name.”
The idea appealed to William.
“All right. What name?”
Miss Fairlow rested against the handle of her lawn mower in an attitude of profound meditation.
“We must consider that—something nice and long.”
“Omshafu,” said William suddenly, after a moment’s thought. “It just came,” he went on modestly, “just came into my head.”