“Oh! just a minute, Teddy. He did talk before you came in. I’ll leave it to Nunky.—Didn’t Beppo talk?”
Uncle Rufus dropped his newspaper upon his knee with a roguish smile.
“Teddy, will you believe me if I say he did?”
“No, sir: I _can’t_ believe you,” said Teddy stoutly, “because there’s no common sense in saying a dog talks.”
“O Nunky, that’s too, _too_ bad!” cried Posy.
“Up and down mean!” cried Pollio; “for you _heard_ him talk.”
“I, my child? Why, I never heard a dog talk in my life!”
“O Nunky, Nunky Gilman! When you were the very one that sat right there and looked straight at Beppo, and heard him say, ‘Your papa w’ipped me.’”
“I heard him say nothing of the kind,” returned uncle Rufus, rising, and planting himself on the rug, with his arms folded.
“There, there! I knew better all the time,” said Teddy, snapping his fingers.
“O Nunky, Nunky!” cried angry Pollio, “you’ve told a”—
“You’ve made a little mistake,” struck in Posy, as angry as her brother, but more polite.
“They say ‘little Pitchers have great ears,’” said uncle Rufus, smiling: “perhaps they hear what isn’t to be heard. Think a minute, children, and see if you can’t be wrong. If a dog _should_ talk, it would be a miracle.”
“Oh! I—I don’ know. I didn’t think of that.”
“Well, I want to teach you to think, my boy; and that is why I have teased you a little. Beppo will speak again; and perhaps you’ll watch his lips this time, won’t you?”
“_Your papa w’ipped me_,” squeaked the fine little voice; but the twins both observed that Beppo never opened his mouth. They saw now that their uncle had been playing a trick upon them.
“Oh, now I know, now I know! Nunky did it himself.”
“Of course he did, you goosie! ’Fore I’d be so silly as you and Posy,” said Teddy, proud of his own wisdom.
“Not so fast, Teddy,” said his uncle. “I could have cheated you in the same way a year or two ago. And I don’t believe now you can tell how I do it. Look at me while I speak so again.”
Teddy did look; but uncle Rufus scarcely stirred his lips, as he said in a voice that seemed to come from the very depths of the cellar,—
“_I’m a rat! I’m drowning in the pork-barrel!_”
“Oh! how _do_ you do it?” cried Teddy. “How can you make your voice sound _way off_, and so different from _your_ voice? Do you do it down in your stomach?”