“Of course it isn't,” Bruno said, in a tone as if he rather pitied my ignorance; “but if oo're not even Sir Anything, oo ca'n't expect to be allowed to sit at the table, oo know.” I said, as meekly as I could, that I didn't expect it, but it was the only way of going to a dinner-party that I really enjoyed. And Bruno tossed his head, and said, in a rather offended tone that I might do as I pleased--there were many he knew that would give their ears to go. “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. But what's the use of it when you've got it?” “What's the use of a fox when oo've got it?” said Bruno. “I know oo big things hunt foxes.” I tried to think of some good reason why “big things” should hunt foxes, and he should not hunt snails, but none came into my head: so I said at last, “Well, I suppose one's as good as the other. I'll go snail-hunting myself some day.” “I should think oo wouldn't be so silly,” said Bruno, “as to go snail-hunting by oor-self. Why, oo'd never get the snail along, if oo hadn't somebody to hold on to his other horn!” “Of course I sha'n't go alone,” I said, quite gravely. “By the way, is that the best kind to hunt, or do you recommend the ones without shells?” “Oh, no, we never hunt the ones without shells,” Bruno said, with a little shudder at the thought of it. “They're always so cross about it; and then, if oo tumbles over them, they're ever so sticky!”