“It’s a beautiful word,” said Miss Fairlow. “I don’t think you could have a better one—an insect of the Omshafu branch.”
“I think I’ll call its name Omshafu, too,” said William, picking a furry caterpillar off a leaf.
“Yes,” said Miss Fairlow, “it seems a pity not to use a word like that as much as you can now you’ve thought of it.”
William put a ladybird in on top of the caterpillar.
“It’s going to be jolly fine,” he said optimistically.
“What?” said Miss Fairlow.
“Oh, jus’ a c’lection of insects I’m doing,” said William.
Later in the morning, William brought Omshafu over to visit Miss Fairlow. It escaped, and Miss Fairlow pursued it up her front stairs and down her back ones, and finally captured it. Omshafu rewarded her by biting her finger. William was apologetic.
“I daresay it just didn’t like the look of me,” said Miss Fairlow sadly.
“Oh, no,” William hastened to reassure her; “it’s bit heaps of people this year—it bites people it likes. I don’t see why it shun’t be an insect, anyway, do you?”