Part 36

“We shall have the assistance,” said Mr. Peterkin, “of Agamemnon, with his Encyclopædia.”

Agamemnon modestly suggested that he had not yet got out of A, and in their first breakfast everything would therefore have to begin with A.

“That would not be impossible,” said Mr. Peterkin. “There is Amanda, who will wait on table, to start with--”

“We could have ‘am-and-eggs,” suggested Solomon John Mrs. Peterkin was distressed. It was hard enough to think of anything for breakfast, and impossible, if it all had to begin with one letter.

Elizabeth Eliza thought it would not be necessary. All they were to do was to ask questions, as in examination papers, and find their answers as they could.

They could still apply to the Encyclopædia, even if it were not in Agamemnon’s alphabetical course.

Mr. Peterkin suggested a great variety. One day they would study the botany of the breakfast-table, another day, its natural history. The study of butter would include that of the cow. Even that of the butter-dish would bring in geology.

The little boys were charmed at the idea of learning pottery from the cream-jug, and they were promised a potter’s wheel directly.

“You see, my dear,” said Mr. Peterkin to his wife, “before many weeks, we shall be drinking our milk from jugs made by our children.”

Elizabeth Eliza hoped for a thorough study.

“Yes,” said Mr. Peterkin, “we might begin with botany. That would be near to Agamemnon alphabetically. We ought to find out the botany of butter. On what does the cow feed?”

The little boys were eager to go out and see.

“If she eats clover,” said Mr. Peterkin, “we shall expect the botany of clover.”

The little boys insisted that they were to begin the next day; that very evening they should go out and study the cow.

Mrs. Peterkin sighed, and decided she would order a simple breakfast. The little boys took their note-books and pencils, and clambered upon the fence, where they seated themselves in a row.

For there were three little boys. So it was now supposed. They were always coming in or going out, and it had been difficult to count them, and nobody was very sure how many there were.

There they sat, however, on the fence, looking at the cow. She looked at them with large eyes.

“She won’t eat,” they cried, “while we are looking at her!”

So they turned about, and pretended to look into the street, and seated themselves that way, turning their heads back, from time to time, to see the cow.

“Now she is nibbling a clover.”

“No, that is a bit of sorrel.”

“It’s a whole handful of grass.”

“What kind of grass?” they exclaimed.

It was very hard, sitting with their backs to the cow, and pretending to the cow that they were looking into the street, and yet to be looking at the cow all the time, and finding out what she was eating; and the upper rail of the fence was narrow and a little sharp. It was very high, too, for some additional rails had been put on to prevent the cow from jumping into the garden or street.

Suddenly, looking out into the hazy twilight, Elizabeth Eliza saw six legs and six india-rubber boots in the air, and the little boys disappeared!

“They are tossed by the cow! The little boys are tossed by the cow!”

Mrs. Peterkin rushed for the window, but fainted on the way. Solomon John and Elizabeth Eliza were hurrying to the door, but stopped, not knowing what to do next. Mrs. Peterkin recovered herself with a supreme effort, and sent them out to the rescue.

But what could they do? The fence had been made so high, to keep the cow out, that nobody could get in. The boy that did the milking had gone off with the key of the outer gate, and perhaps with the key of the shed door. Even if that were not locked, before Agamemnon could get round by the wood-shed and cow-shed, the little boys might be gored through and through!