"I was brought up on Verbs of irregular kind, With a Pronoun or two as a treat, While a strict course of Logic, to strengthen my mind, My pastors and masters thought meet. I had Lessons for breakfast, and Sums for my tea, Learnt to play the Arithmetic nicely, And gained all the prizes at School--don't you see, For construing Doggerel concisely. They were Isms, and Ologies, Science, and Cram, Quadratic Equations, and Butter, The _Pons asinorum_, and Strawberry Jam, And the Cane, did I mumble or mutter." CHAPTER IV. STORIES AND TAILS BY THE SAGE. "Do you mean to say," inquired Dick, when the Sage had finished, "that all those last things were prizes; because, if so, there isn't a single one of them that I should have cared for much, except the Strawberry Jam?" "That only shows a great want of taste on your part," said the old Sage, severely. "Isms and Ologies, and things of that sort, are very tasty, when you become used to them." "What are Isms and Ologies, if you please, Sir?" asked Marjorie. "Oh, there are various kinds," was the reply. "There's Ge-Ology, for instance, which is lovely spread on bread-and-butter; and Zo-Ology, with Aphor-Ism sauce, is simply delicious." "They don't sound very nice," said Marjorie, dubiously, making a wry face. "You don't know anything at all about it, I'm afraid, my dear," said the little old man, decidedly. "You would probably prefer dolls and foolishness of that sort!" "Yes, I think I should," admitted Marjorie, candidly. "Do you know _everything_, please, Mr. Sage?" inquired Fidge, who had been very silent during this conversation, which he had not in the least been able to understand. "Yes, my dear," said the Sage, smiling affably. "Stories?" inquired Fidge, his eyes wide open with excitement and interest. The old man nodded. "Oh! do tell us one, please," begged the little boy. "The Three Bears, or Little Red Riding Hood, or something of that sort." "Fidge, Fidge," cried Dick, rebukingly, "you mustn't bother the gentleman." "Oh, I don't mind in the least," said the Sage, pleasantly. "I'll tell him some stories, if he likes." "Oh! thanks, that's jolly!" cried Fidge, clapping his hands, and they all sat down again, while the old man began as follows:-- "It was on a dark winter's night, and the hot sun was pouring down upon the----" "Oh!" interrupted Marjorie, "I beg your pardon, but haven't you made a mistake? It couldn't have been dark, you know, if the sun was shining." The Sage frowned severely. "Are you telling this story, or am I?" he asked, coldly. "Oh, I beg your pardon," said Marjorie, "please go on."