“‘Eldest little Fox,’” Sylvie said, dropping the narrative-form in her eagerness, “‘you’ve been _so_ good that I can hardly believe _you’ve_ been disobedient: but I’m _afraid_ you’ve been eating your little sister?’ And the eldest little Fox said ‘Whihuauch! Whihuauch!’ and then it choked. And Bruno looked into its mouth, and it _was_ full!” (Sylvie paused to take breath, and Bruno lay back among the daisies, and looked at me triumphantly. “Isn’t it _grand_, Mister Sir?” said he. I tried hard to assume a critical tone. “It’s grand,” I said: “but it frightens one so!” “Oo may sit a little closer to _me_, if oo like,” said Bruno.) “And so Bruno went home: and took the hamper into the kitchen, and opened it. And he saw——” Sylvie looked at _me_, this time, as if she thought I had been rather neglected and ought to be allowed _one_ guess, at any rate. “He ca’n’t guess!” Bruno cried eagerly. “I ’fraid I _must_ tell him! There weren’t—_nuffin_ in the hamper!” I shivered in terror, and Bruno clapped his hands with delight. “He _is_ flightened, Sylvie! Tell the rest!” “So Bruno said ‘Eldest little Fox, have you been eating _yourself_, you wicked little Fox?’ And the eldest little Fox said ‘Whihuauch!’ And then Bruno saw there was only its _mouth_ in the hamper! So he took the mouth, and he opened it, and shook, and shook! And at last he shook the little Fox out of its own mouth! And then he said ‘Open your mouth again, you wicked little thing!’ And he shook, and shook! And he shook out the second little Fox! And he said ‘Now open _your_ mouth!’ And he shook, and shook! And he shook out the youngest little Fox, and all the Apples, and all the Bread! “And then Bruno stood the little Foxes up against the wall: and he made them a little speech. ‘Now, little Foxes, you’ve begun very wickedly—and you’ll have to be punished. First you’ll go up to the nursery, and wash your faces, and put on clean pinafores. Then you’ll hear the bell ring for supper. Then you’ll come down: and _you won’t have any supper_: but you’ll have a good _whipping_! Then you’ll go to bed. Then in the morning you’ll hear the bell ring for breakfast. _But you won’t have any breakfast!_ You’ll have a good _whipping_! Then you’ll have your lessons. And, perhaps, if you’re _very_ good, when dinner-time comes, you’ll have a little dinner, and no more whipping!’” (“How _very_ kind he was!” I whispered to Bruno. “_Middling_ kind,” Bruno corrected me gravely.)