It was an awkward position for a pacific boy like Heathcote, who mildly enquired—
“Why not?”
“Because you cheeked me,” replied the wolf.
“How? I didn’t mean to,” replied the lamb.
“That’ll do. You’ve got to apologise.”
“Apologise! What for?”
“Speaking to me at dinner-time.”
The blood of the Heathcotes began to tingle.
“Suppose I don’t apologise?” asked he.
“You’ll be sorry for it.”