much as look at but he starts squealing, and Harlequin, that thinks he’s so wonderful—a stupid lot, I call them! And as for that loose-jointed thing like a dog, that they call Poor Cecco, always poking about where he isn’t wanted, he’s the worst of the lot! Ugh! I can’t stand the sight of him!”
“Still,” said the Toad, “you shouldn’t have locked them up in the cupboard. That’s going too far. You could be had up for that!”
“I don’t care!” said Murrum. “I do what I like and I go where I choose! And now I’m off to keep my appointment!”
And he gave a last look at his coat, all smooth and glossy, stretched out his ten white toes on the doorstep, and arched his back.
Now all the while Murrum was talking some one had been creeping very slowly along the edge of the porch just over Murrum’s head. He had to move rather stiffly and carefully because he was all made of wood, and if he once let his joints rattle there would be a terrible noise. So he went gently—clop—clop—and when he reached the big flower-pot that stood just by the doorstep he folded his hind legs under him and lay down, with one ear cocked up, to hear what was going on. For Murrum hadn’t been quite as clever as he thought he was, and when he shut the toy-cupboard door Poor Cecco wasn’t inside at all.
