‘Pleasure first and business afterwards’ seemed to be the motto of these tiny folk, so many hugs and kisses had to be interchanged before anything else could be done.

‘Now, Bruno,’ Sylvie said reproachfully, ‘didn’t I tell you you were to go on with your lessons, unless you heard to the contrary?’

‘But I did heard to the contrary!’ Bruno insisted, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

‘What did you hear, you wicked boy?’

‘It were a sort of noise in the air,’ said Bruno: ‘a sort of a scrambling noise. Didn’t oo hear it, Mister Sir?’

‘Well, anyhow, you needn’t go to sleep over them, you lazy-lazy!’ For Bruno had curled himself up, on the largest ‘lesson’, and was arranging another as a pillow.

‘I wasn’t asleep!’ said Bruno, in a deeply-injured tone. ‘When I shuts mine eyes, it’s to show that I’m awake!’

‘Well, how much have you learned, then?’

‘I’ve learned a little tiny bit,’ said Bruno, modestly, being evidently afraid of overstating his achievement. ‘Ca’n’t learn no more!’

‘Oh Bruno! You know you can, if you like.’

‘Course I can, if I like,’ the pale student replied; ‘but I ca’n’t if I don’t like!’

Sylvie had a way—which I could not too highly admire—of evading Bruno’s logical perplexities by suddenly striking into a new line of thought; and this masterly stratagem she now adopted.

‘Well, I must say one thing—’

‘Did oo know, Mister Sir,’ Bruno thoughtfully remarked, ‘that Sylvie ca’n’t count? Whenever she says "I must say one thing", I know quite well she’ll say two things! And she always doos.’

‘Two heads are better than one, Bruno,’ I said, but with no very distinct idea as to what I meant by it.

‘I shouldn’t mind having two heads,’ Bruno said softly to himself: ‘one head to eat mine dinner, and one head to argue wiz Sylvie—doos oo think oo’d look prettier if oo’d got two heads, Mister Sir?’

The case did not, I assured him, admit of a doubt.

‘The reason why Sylvie’s so cross—’ Bruno went on very seriously, almost sadly.

Sylvie’s eyes grew large and round with surprise at this new line of enquiry—her rosy face being perfectly radiant with good humour. But she said nothing.

‘Wouldn’t it be better to tell me after the lessons are over?’ I suggested.

‘Very well,’ Bruno said with a resigned air: ‘only she wo’n’t be cross then.’

‘There’s only three lessons to do,’ said Sylvie. ‘Spelling, and Geography, and Singing.’

‘Not Arithmetic?’ I said.

‘No, he hasn’t a head for Arithmetic—’

‘Course I haven’t!’ said Bruno. ‘Mine head’s for hair. I haven’t got a lot of heads!’

‘—and he ca’n’t learn his Multiplication-table—’

‘I like History ever so much better,’ Bruno remarked. ‘Oo has to repeat that Muddlecome table—’

‘Well, and you have to repeat—’

‘No, oo hasn’t!’ Bruno interrupted. ‘History repeats itself. The Professor said so!’

Sylvie was arranging some letters on a board—E—V—I—L. ‘Now, Bruno,’ she said, ‘what does that spell?’

Bruno looked at it, in solemn silence, for a minute. ‘I know what it doesn’t spell!’ he said at last.

‘That’s no good,’ said Sylvie. ‘What does it spell?’

Bruno took another look at the mysterious letters. ‘Why, it’s "LIVE", backwards!’ he exclaimed. (I thought it was, indeed.)

‘How did you manage to see that?’ said Sylvie.

‘I just twiddled my eyes,’ said Bruno, ‘and then I saw it directly. Now may I sing the King-fisher Song?’

‘Geography next,’ said Sylvie. ‘Don’t you know the Rules?’

‘I think there oughtn’t to be such a lot of Rules, Sylvie! I thinks—’

‘Yes, there ought to be such a lot of Rules, you wicked, wicked boy! And how dare you think at all about it? And shut up that mouth directly!’

So, as ‘that mouth’ didn’t seem inclined to shut up of itself, Sylvie shut it for him—with both hands—and sealed it with a kiss, just as you would fasten up a letter.

‘Now that Bruno is fastened up from talking,’ she went on, turning to me, ‘I’ll show you the Map he does his lessons on.’

And there it was, a large Map of the World, spread out on the ground. It was so large that Bruno had to crawl about on it, to point out the places named in the ‘King-fisher Lesson’.

‘When a King-fisher sees a Lady-bird flying away, he says "Ceylon, if you Candia!" And when he catches it, he says "Come to Media! And if you’re Hungary or thirsty, I’ll give you some Nubia!" When he takes it in his claws, he says "Europe!" When he puts it into his beak, he says "India!" When he’s swallowed it, he says "Eton!" That’s all.’

‘That’s quite perfect,’ said Sylvie. ‘Now, you may sing the King-fisher Song.’

‘Will oo sing the chorus?’ Bruno said to me.

I was just beginning to say ‘I’m afraid I don’t know the words’, when Sylvie silently turned the map over, and I found the words were all written on the back. In one respect it was a very peculiar song: the chorus to each verse came in the middle, instead of at the end of it. However, the tune was so easy that I soon picked it up, and managed the chorus as well, perhaps, as it is possible for one person to manage such a thing. It was in vain that I signed to Sylvie to help me: she only smiled sweetly and shook her head.

‘King Fisher courted Lady Bird—

Sing Beans, sing Bones, sing Butterflies!

"Find me my match," he said, "With such a noble head—

With such a beard, as white as curd—

With such expressive eyes!"

‘"Yet pins have heads," said Lady Bird—

Sing Prunes, sing Prawns, sing Primrose-Hill!

"And, where you stick them in,They stay, and thus a pin Is very much to be preferredTo one that’s never still!"

‘"Oysters have beards," said Lady Bird—

Sing Flies, sing Frogs, sing Fiddle-strings!

"I love them, for I knowThey never chatter so:

They would not say one single word—

Not if you crowned them Kings!"

‘"Needles have eyes," said Lady Bird—

Sing Cats, sing Corks, sing Cowslip-tea!

"And they are sharp—just whatYour Majesty is not:

So get you gone—’ tis too absurdTo come a-courting me!"