Lab
Library
Journal
Shop
Sign in
to keep
Share image
1
150
Literary Lapses
·
Stephen Leacock
136
"You
are
eight
years
old?"
asked
the
bard.
"I
suppose
so,"
answered
she.
"I
have
been
eight
years
old
for
years
and
years."
"And
you
know
nothing
of
death,
of
course?"
said
the
poet
cheerfully.
"How
can
I?"
answered
the
child.
"Now
then,"
resumed
the
venerable
William,
"let
us
get
to
business.
Name
your
brothers
and
sisters."
"Let
me
see,"
began
the
child
wearily;
"there
was
Rube
and
Ike,
two
I
can't
think
of,
and
John
and
Jane."
"You
must
not
count
John
and
Jane,"
interrupted
the
bard
reprovingly;
"they're
dead,
you
know,
so
that
doesn't
make
seven."
"I
wasn't
counting
them,
but
perhaps
I
added
up
wrongly,"
said
the
child;
"and
will
you
please
move
your
overshoe
off
my
neck?"
"Pardon,"
said
the
old
man.
"A
nervous
trick,
I
have
been
absorbed;
indeed,
the
exigency
of
the
metre
almost
demands
my
doubling
up
my
feet.
To
continue,
however;
which
died
first?"
"The
first
to
go
was
little
Jane,"
said
the
child.
"She
lay
moaning
in
bed,
I
presume?"
"In
bed
she
moaning
lay."
"What
killed
her?"
"Insomnia,"
answered
the
girl.
"The
gaiety
of
our
cottage
life,
previous
to
the
departure
of
our
elder
brothers
for
Conway,
and
the
constant
field-sports
in
which
she
indulged
with
John,
proved
too
much
for
a
frame
never
too
robust."
"You
express
yourself
well,"
said
the
poet.
"Now,
in
regard
to
your
unfortunate
brother,
what
was
the
effect
upon
him
in
the
following
winter
of
the
ground
being
white
with
snow
and
your
being
able
to
run
and
slide?"
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
