“What’s all that?” said John Krinken.
“He says his things tell him stories,” said Mrs. Krinken; “and he’s told over one or two to me, and it’s as good as a book. I can’t think where the child got hold of them.”
“Why they told ’em to me, mother,” said Carl.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Krinken; “something told it to thee, child.”
“Who told ’em, Carl?” said his father.
“My red cent, and my purse, and my three apples—or only one of the apples,” said Carl;—“that was Beachamwell.”
“Beach ’em what?” said his father.
“Beachamwell—that is the biggest of my three apples,” said Carl.
At which John and Mrs. Krinken looked at each other, and laughed till their eyes ran down with tears.