"Have you ever been yourself, Bruno?"
"They invited me once, last week," Bruno said, very gravely.
"It was to wash up the soup-plates--no, the cheese-plates I mean that
was grand enough. And I waited at table. And I didn't hardly make
only one mistake."
"What was it?" I said. "You needn't mind telling me."
"Only bringing scissors to cut the beef with," Bruno said carelessly.
"But the grandest thing of all was, I fetched the King a glass of cider!"
"That was grand!" I said, biting my lip to keep myself from laughing.
"Wasn't it?" said Bruno, very earnestly. "Oo know it isn't every one
that's had such an honour as that!"
This set me thinking of the various queer things we call "an honour" in
this world, but which, after all, haven't a bit more honour in them
than what Bruno enjoyed, when he took the King a glass of cider.
I don't know how long I might not have dreamed on in this way, if Bruno
hadn't suddenly roused me. "Oh, come here quick!" he cried, in a state
of the wildest excitement. "Catch hold of his other horn!
I ca'n't hold him more than a minute!"
He was struggling desperately with a great snail, clinging to one of
its horns, and nearly breaking his poor little back in his efforts to
drag it over a blade of grass.
I saw we should have no more gardening if I let this sort of thing go
on, so I quietly took the snail away, and put it on a bank where he
couldn't reach it. "We'll hunt it afterwards, Bruno," I said,
"if you really want to catch it.
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