And so on thro' all the great interrogatives that I could think of till she stopped my mouth with a kiss and we both laughed.
"Miss Penderkins," I say. "Miss Penderlet, Miss Pender-au-lait, Miss Pender-filings."
What do I mean? she cries. "What's the point of the names? Why take my name in vain? Why? What? How?"
She does not know that clever young men sometimes trade on their reputation among simpler folk by pretending that meaningless remarks conceal some subtlety or cynicism, some little Attic snap.
I have been teaching her to distinguish the songs of different birds and often we sit a long while in the Cathedral Wood while I say, "What's that?" and "What's that?" and she tells me. It is delightful to watch her dear serious face as she listens.... This evening I gave a viva voce examination as per below:
"What does the Yellow Hammer say?"
"What colour are the Hedge Sparrow's eggs?"
"Describe the Nightjar's voice."
"How many eggs does it lay?"