“Hullo, You!” he said to them all, without waiting for an introduction. You see, Mother Dear had told him that they were there and that he must be nice.
“What do you want?”
“We want a story!” they all shouted.
Flip turned to Martha Mary and struck a pose like an old-time actor.
“Alas! Madam,” he said, “my fame precedes me. I fain would accommodate you, but it wearies me to ever seek new plots.”
“Don’t be hateful,” said Martha Mary.
“’Tis well,” said Flip. “What nature of story-do you desire?”
They all shouted at once: “Pirates—dolls—fairies—ghosts—love—shipwreck—creepy—bloody——” until you couldn’t tell who was talking.
“Wait!” roared Flip. “You can’t expect me to think if you don’t be quiet. I’m going to tell just the kind of a story I wish and, if you don’t like it, you can go jump in the lake and drown. But I hope you won’t, because then I’ll be insulted.”
This is the story he told them: