And put it on a wall;
And that’s all.”
“Pooh! that isn’t any story at all,” cried Willie, with evident disappointment, after a pause. “Come, tell me a real story—you said you would.”
“Yes, that’s a story, and a pretty good one, too, I think,” said Henry. “Come, say it after me, and see if you don’t think so.”
Willie repeated the lines after him, until he had learned them. Though at first vexed with the story, he now seemed rather pleased with it.
Willie sat silently at a window for several minutes, watching the vain attempts of a venerable and solemn cock turkey to maintain his dignity in a wind blowing at the rate of twenty or thirty miles an hour; and then he suddenly exclaimed:—
“Henry, I don’t think we shall have to send you to Marcus, after all.”
“Why not?” inquired Henry, laughing.
“Because you are good enough without going to him,” replied Willie.
“Well, that’s a bran-new idea,” added Henry. “I should like to know how long that’s been—ever since dinner-time?”