“Tell me a story.”
“Me? I don’t know any stories.”
“Oh yes; a funny one, please.”
“I tell you I don’t know any—what about?”
“‘The Three Bears.’”
“I don’t know anything about ‘three bears,’” said I.
“Do! do!! do!!!” he said, beginning to get crusty.
So I did my best. He kept saying I was all wrong, and putting me right; he might just as well have told it himself. I told him so. But he took no notice, and went on badgering me for more stories.
I can tell you I was getting sick of it!
When I made up a story for him to laugh at, he looked so solemn and said—