“Oh, lookee, lookee, pa! What’s that?”
“Then the patient Adam, trying to saw enough kitchen wood to last over Sunday, with a piece of flint for a saw, would have to pause and gather up enough words to say:
“That, my son? That is only a mastodon giganteus; he has a bad look but a Christian temper.”
And then presently:
“Oh, pa! pa! What’s that over yon?”
“Oh, bother,” Adam would reply; “it’s only a paleotherium, mammalia pachydermata.”
“Oh, yes; theliocomeafterus. Oh, lookee, lookee at this ’un!”
“Where, Cainny? Oh, that in the mud? That’s only an acephala lamelli branchiata. It won’t bite you, but you mustn’t eat it. It’s poison as politics.”
“Whee! See there! See, see, see! What’s him?”
“Oh, that? Looks like a pleiosaurus; keep out of his way; he has a jaw like your mother.”