"Don't, Cyril, don't," exclaimed the aunt, as the small boy began
smacking the cushions of the seat, producing a cloud of dust at each
blow.
"Come and look out of the window," she added.
The child moved reluctantly to the window. "Why are those sheep being
driven out of that field?" he asked.
"I expect they are being driven to another field where there is more
grass," said the aunt weakly.
"But there is lots of grass in that field," protested the boy; "there's
nothing else but grass there. Aunt, there's lots of grass in that
field."
"Perhaps the grass in the other field is better," suggested the aunt
fatuously.
"Why is it better?" came the swift, inevitable question.
"Oh, look at those cows!" exclaimed the aunt. Nearly every field along
the line had contained cows or bullocks, but she spoke as though she were
drawing attention to a rarity.
"Why is the grass in the other field better?" persisted Cyril.
The frown on the bachelor's face was deepening to a scowl. He was a
hard, unsympathetic man, the aunt decided in her mind. She was utterly
unable to come to any satisfactory decision about the grass in the other
field.
The smaller girl created a diversion by beginning to recite "On the Road
to Mandalay." She only knew the first line, but she put her limited
knowledge to the fullest possible use. She repeated the line over and
over again in a dreamy but resolute and very audible voice; it seemed to
the bachelor as though some one had had a bet with her that she could not
repeat the line aloud two thousand times without stopping.
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