“Asleep, I fancy?” says Halicarnassus, interrogatively.
We walk silently towards the woods. We meet a small boy with a tin pan and thirty-six fishes in it. We accost him.
“Are these fishes for sale?” asks Halicarnassus.
“Bet they be!” says small boy with energy.
Halicarnassus looks meaningly at me. I look meaningly at Halicarnassus, and both look meaningly at our empty basket. “Won’t you tell?” says Halicarnassus. “No; won’t you?” Halicarnassus whistles, the fishes are transferred from pan to basket, and we walk away “chirp as a cricket,” reach the sylvan party, and are speedily surrounded.
“O what beauties! Who caught them? How many are there?”
