The Sparrow Imp’s Return
The Children of Funbeam. By Flo Lancester. 1920
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Flip-Flap and Don were sitting at the table, chatting over their dessert.
‘‘These spiced snowballs are lovely, Oojah, dear,” said Don. “Do have a taste at them.”
“Don’t know if I’ve any more room,” replied the Oojah. “I’ve three platefuls of whipped whortleberries and candied cauliflowers now.”
“My whiskers!” cried the Kitten-Cat, sitting up. “There’s a fine fat sparrow out here. I’m off to Snooker him double-quick.” And he jumped down from the table.
“It’s the Sparrow Imp!” exclaimed Don, excitedly. “It’s our own dear Sparrow imp come back to us again.”
“So it is, so it is,” said the Great Oojah. “Where’s he been all this time? Snooker, come back this instant minute! That’s our own special Sparrow Imp. You mustn’t touch him!”
“Come here at once, Snooker,” called Don.
“He’ll never get me. Don’t worry,” chirped the Sparrow Imp, hopping through the window to his old place on Flip-Flap’s head.
“My tail! Who are you, I should like to know?” cried Snooker, humping his back. “Who are you, Master Impertinence, taking my seat?”
“That’s my dearest, oldest friend,” said Don, gently. “And you’ve got to be very nice indeed to him—as nice as cream.”
“What’s the use of a sparrow you can’t eat?” grumbled Snooker.
“Whyever is that cat here?” inquired the Sparrow Imp. “He’s all smudgey-black!”
“He’s our little Kitten-Cat,” answered Flip-Flap.
“You’ll grow very fond of him, maybe.”
“Humph!” said the Sparrow Imp. “There’s too many cats in the world to be comfortable, already.”
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