“When you’re older,” said the Professor, “you’ll know that you _ca’n’t_ put Mountains together again so easily! One lives and one learns, you know!” “But it needn’t be the _same_ one, need it?” said Bruno. “Won’t it do, if _I_ live, and if _Sylvie_ learns?” “I _ca’n’t_ learn without living!” said Sylvie. “But I _can_ live without learning!” Bruno retorted. “Oo just try me!” “What I meant, was—” the Professor began, looking much puzzled, “—was—that you don’t know _everything_, you know.” “But I _do_ know everything I know!” persisted the little fellow. “I know ever so many things! Everything, ’cept the things I _don’t_ know. And Sylvie knows all the rest.” The Professor sighed, and gave it up. “Do you know what a Boojum is?” “_I_ know!” cried Bruno. “It’s the thing what wrenches people out of their boots!” “He means ‘bootjack,’” Sylvie explained in a whisper. “You ca’n’t wrench people out of _boots_,” the Professor mildly observed. Bruno laughed saucily. “Oo _can_, though! Unless they’re _welly_ tight in.” “Once upon a time there was a Boojum——” the Professor began, but stopped suddenly. “I forget the rest of the Fable,” he said. “And there was a lesson to be learned from it. I’m afraid I forget _that_, too.” “_I’ll_ tell oo a Fable!” Bruno began in a great hurry. “Once there were a Locust, and a Magpie, and a Engine-driver. And the Lesson is, to learn to get up early——” “It isn’t a bit interesting!” Sylvie said contemptuously. “You shouldn’t put the Lesson so soon.” “When did you invent that Fable?” said the Professor. “Last week?” “No!” said Bruno. “A deal shorter ago than that. Guess again!” “I ca’n’t guess,” said the Professor. “How long ago?” “Why, it isn’t invented yet!” Bruno exclaimed triumphantly. “But I _have_ invented a lovely one! Shall I say it?” “If you’ve _finished_ inventing it,” said Sylvie. “And let the Lesson be ‘to try again’!” “No,” said Bruno with great decision. “The Lesson are ‘_not_ to try again’!” “Once there were a lovely china man, what stood on the chimbley-piece. And he stood, and he stood. And one day he tumbleded off, and he didn’t hurt his self one bit. Only he _would_ try again. And the next time he tumbleded off, he hurted his self welly much, and breaked off ever so much varnish.” “But how did he come back on the chimney-piece after his first tumble?” said the Empress. (It was the first sensible question she had asked in all her life.) “_I_ put him there!” cried Bruno. “Then I’m afraid you know something about his tumbling,” said the Professor. “Perhaps you pushed him?” To which Bruno replied, very seriously, “Didn’t pushed him _much_—he were a _lovely_ china man,” he added hastily, evidently very anxious to change the subject. “Come, my children!” said the Elfin-King, who had just entered the room. “We must have a little chat together, before you go to bed.” And he was leading them away, but at the door they let go his hands, and ran back again to wish the Professor good night.