“I have it,” said Tom, “it is windmill sails.”
“Windmill sails!” exclaimed Thorsby. “How in the world could you guess that?”
“I read it,” said Tom.
“Read it! No, impossible!” exclaimed Thorsby; “for I only just made it. Read it! where did you read it?”
“Mr. George knows it,” said Tom.
“Never!” exclaimed Thorsby, running back to the party, whom, to his wonder, he found in a full chorus of laughter, and the ladies clapping their hands in delight.
“What is up?” said Thorsby, wondering still more; “what is the meaning of it?” And throwing himself down, he said, “Boddily says, George, you know my riddle, and that he himself knows it, and has read it.”
At this the merriment increased extremely, and George, taking a page of note-paper from Thorsby’s back, which he had pinned there, with the words largely written in pencil, “Windmill Sails,” held it before Thorsby’s face, amidst the jubilance of the ladies.
“Ha-a-a!” said Thorsby, “now I see! That’s where Boddily read it. That’s why he pretended there was a heron, to make me turn my back towards him. Well, George, I give you credit for great cleverness; I hope you give me a little for making that riddle.”
“Oh, it is excellent—first-rate,” said all together.