"Because—don't you remember how some little folks used to act about steam-engines? They might do it again, you know."
"Yes, I 'member now. But that was a long time ago, Jimmy. He wouldn't run after engines now."
"Who wouldn't?" inquired young Master Eddo, forgetting the "king-ductor" and turning about to face his elder brother. "Who wouldn't run after the engine, Jimmum?"
"Nobody—I mean you wouldn't."
"No, no, not me," assented Eddo, shaking his flaxen head.
And there the matter would have ended, if Lucy had not added most unluckily: "'Twas when you were only a baby that you did it, Eddo. You said to the engine, 'Come here, little choo choo, Eddo won't hurt oo.' You didn't know any better."
"'Course I knew better," said Eddo, shaking his head again, but this time with an air of bewilderment. "I didn't say, 'Come here, little choo choo.' No, no, not me!"
"Oh, but you did, darling," persisted Lucy. "You were just a tiny bit of a boy. You stood right on the track, and the engine was coming, 'puff, puff,' and you said, 'Come here, little choo choo, Eddo won't hurt oo!'"
"I didn't! Oh! Oh! Oh! When'd I say that? Did the engine hurt me? Where did it hurt me? Say, Jimmum, where did the engine hurt me?" putting his hand to his throat, to his ears, to his side.
The more he thought of it, the worse he felt; till appalled by the idea of what he must have suffered he finally fell to sobbing in his mother's arms, and she soothed his imaginary woes with kisses and cookies. For the remainder of the journey he was in pretty good spirits and found much diversion in watching the gambols of the two dogs following the tallyho. One was a Castle Cliff dog, black and shaggy, named Slam; the other, yellow and smooth, belonged to the "king-ductor" or driver, and was called Bang. Slam and Bang often darted off for a race and Eddo nearly gave them up for lost; but they always came back wagging their tails and capering about as if to say:—