“So Bruno went a little further along the road. And then he heard it again, that queer noise—Thump! Thump! Thump! ‘What ever _is_ that?’ said Bruno. ‘Oh, I know!’ said Bruno. ‘Why, it’s only the Carpenter a-mending my Wheelbarrow!’” “_Were_ it the Carterpenter a-mending his Wheelbarrow?” Bruno asked me. I brightened up, and said “It _must_ have been!” in a tone of absolute conviction. Bruno threw his arms round Sylvie’s neck. “Sylvie!” he said, in a perfectly audible whisper. “He says it _must_ have been!” “Then Bruno thought a little harder. And he said ‘No! It _ca’n’t_ be the Carpenter amending my Wheelbarrow, because I haven’t _got_ a Wheelbarrow!’” This time I hid my face in my hands, quite unable to meet Bruno’s look of triumph. “So Bruno went a little further along the road. And then he heard that queer noise again—Thump! Thump! Thump! So he thought he’d look round, _this_ time, just to _see_ what it was. And what should it be but a great Lion!” “A great big Lion,” Bruno corrected her. “A great big Lion. And Bruno was ever so frightened, and he ran——” “No, he wasn’t _flightened_ a bit!” Bruno interrupted. (He was evidently anxious for the reputation of his namesake.) “He runned away to get a good look at the Lion; ’cause he wanted to see if it were the same Lion what used to nubble little Boys’ heads off; and he wanted to know how big it was!” “Well, he ran away, to get a good look at the Lion. And the Lion trotted slowly after him. And the Lion called after him, in a very gentle voice, ‘Little Boy, little Boy! You needn’t be afraid of _me_! I’m a very _gentle_ old Lion now. I _never_ nubble little Boys’ heads off, as I used to do.’ And so Bruno said ‘Don’t you _really_, Sir? Then what do you live on?’ And the Lion——” “Oo _see_ he weren’t a bit flightened!” Bruno said to me, patting my cheek again. “’cause he remembered to call it ‘Sir,’ oo know.” I said that no doubt that was the _real_ test whether a person was frightened or not. “And the Lion said ‘Oh, I live on bread-and-butter, and cherries, and marmalade, and plum-cake———’” “—and _apples_!” Bruno put in. “Yes, ‘and apples.’ And Bruno said ‘Won’t you come with me to my Picnic?’ And the Lion said ‘Oh, I should like it _very much indeed_!’ And Bruno and the Lion went away together.” Sylvie stopped suddenly. “Is that _all_?” I asked, despondingly. “Not _quite_ all,” Sylvie slily replied. “There’s a sentence or two more. Isn’t there, Bruno?” “Yes,” with a carelessness that was evidently put on: “just a sentence or two more.” “And, as they were walking along, they looked over a hedge, and who should they see but a little black Lamb! And the Lamb was ever so frightened. And it ran——” “It were _really_ flightened!” Bruno put in. “It ran away. And Bruno ran after it. And he called ‘Little Lamb! You needn’t be afraid of _this_ Lion! It _never_ kills things! It lives on cherries, and marmalade——’” “—and _apples_!” said Bruno. “Oo _always_ forgets the apples!”