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Page 11
"I think the best way will be for _you_ to weed the beds, while _I_
sort out these pebbles, ready to mark the walks with."
"That's it!" cried Bruno. "And I'll tell you about the caterpillars
while we work."
"Ah, let's hear about the caterpillars," I said, as I drew the pebbles
together into a heap, and began dividing them into colors.
And Bruno went on in a low, rapid tone, more as if he were talking to
himself. "Yesterday I saw two little caterpillars, when I was sitting
by the brook, just where you go into the wood. They were quite g'een,
and they had yellow eyes, and they didn't see _me_. And one of them
had got a moth's wing to carry--a g'eat b'own moth's wing, you know,
all d'y, with feathers. So he couldn't want it to eat, I should
think--perhaps he meant to make a cloak for the winter?"
"Perhaps," I said, for Bruno had twisted up the last word into a sort
of question, and was looking at me for an answer.
One word was quite enough for the little fellow, and he went on,
merrily:
"Well, and so he didn't want the other caterpillar to see the moth's
wing, you know; so what must he do but t'y to carry it with all his
left legs, and he t'ied to walk on the other set. Of course, he toppled
over after that."
"After what?" I said, catching at the last word, for, to tell the
truth, I hadn't been attending much.
"He toppled over," Bruno repeated, very gravely, "and if _you_ ever saw
a caterpillar topple over, you'd know it's a serious thing, and not sit
g'inning like that--and I shan't tell you any more."
"Indeed and indeed, Bruno, I didn't mean to grin. See, I'm quite grave
again now."
But Bruno only folded his arms and said, "Don't tell _me_. I see a
little twinkle in one of your eyes--just like the moon."
"Am _I_ like the moon, Bruno?" I asked.
"Your face is large and round like the moon," Bruno answered, looking
at me thoughtfully. "It doesn't shine quite so bright--but it's
cleaner."
I couldn't help smiling at this. "You know I wash _my_ face, Bruno. The
moon never does that."
"Oh, doesn't she though!" cried Bruno; and he leaned forward and added
in a solemn whisper, "The moon's face gets dirtier and dirtier every
night, till it's black all ac'oss. And then, when it's dirty all
over--_so_--" (he passed his hand across his own rosy cheeks as he
spoke) "then she washes it."
"And then it's all clean again, isn't it?"
"Not all in a moment," said Bruno. "What a deal of teaching you want!
She washes it little by little--only she begins at the other edge."
By this time he was sitting quietly on the mouse, with his arms folded,
and the weeding wasn't getting on a bit. So I was obliged to say:
"Work first and pleasure afterward; no more talking till that bed's
finished."
After that we had a few minutes of silence, while I sorted out the
pebbles, and amused myself with watching Bruno's plan of gardening. It
was quite a new plan to me: he always measured each bed before he
weeded it, as if he was afraid the weeding would make it shrink; and
once, when it came out longer than he wished, he set to work to thump
the mouse with his tiny fist, crying out, "There now! It's all 'ong
again! Why don't you keep your tail st'aight when I tell you!"
"I'll tell you what I'll do," Bruno said in a half-whisper, as we
worked: "I'll get you an invitation to the king's dinner-party. I know
one of the head-waiters."
I couldn't help laughing at this idea. "Do the waiters invite the
guests?" I asked.
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