"Well, have it a bummely then," said Dimple. "You don't care, do you,
Florence?"
"No," said Florence, "have it a bummely if you want to, Bubbles."
"'Well,' says the bluebird, 'ef you see a bummelybee, don't you let
nobody take his honey from him, fur he's a pertickeler fren' of mine.'
He was sorter shamed to let on to the squirl how nigh chawmed he was.
"'I promise, cross my heart,' says the squirl, and Mr. Bluebird flown
off.
"Aftern awhile, up flown Mr. Bummely, and smack behind him comes a
little boy layin' out to git his honey.
"Mr. Bummely he flown along and went to hide hissef in a big flower.
That's jess what the boy wanted. 'Now I've got yuh,' says he, but he was
too forward, fur the squirl clim' down the tree and popped onto the
boy's haid jess ez he was gwine to take off his hat to ketch Mr.
Bummely, and Mr. Bummely he flown off, and Mr. Squirl he laugh, and Mr.
Boy he got mad, and made tracks fur home, and that's all."
The girls laughed, and hearing Sylvy call her, Bubbles went out.
"Isn't she funny?" said Florence. "I never could have made up a story
like that, could you, Dimple?"
"No," said Dimple, "she tells me the funniest ones sometimes, so mixed
up, and I laugh till I can scarcely speak, and she sings the most
absurd songs; she gets the words all twisted, she has no idea what they
mean.
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