be
the child that put its hands through the wire, never Thumbeline. I
once tried to put her against the roof when I was playing with her.
She screamed like a shot hare and would not come out of the kennel all
day. There was no doubt at all about her feelings for zinc. All other
metals seemed indifferent to her.

"With the advent of spring weather Thumbeline became not only more
beautiful, but wilder, and exceedingly restless. She now coaxed me to
let her out, and against my judgment I did it; she had to be carried
over the entry; for when I had set the gate wide open and pointed her
the way into the garden she squatted down in her usual attitude of
attention, with her legs crossed, and watched me, waiting. I wanted to
see how she would get through the hateful wire, so went away and hid
myself, leaving her alone with Bran. I saw her creep to the entry and
peer at the wire. What followed was curious. Bran came up wagging his
tail and stood close to her, his side against her head; he looked
down, inviting her to go out with him. Long looks passed between them,
and then Bran stooped his head, she put her arms around his neck,
twined her feet about his foreleg, and was carried out. Then she
became a mad thing, now bird, now moth; high and low, round and round,
flashing about the place for all the world like a humming-bird moth,
perfectly beautiful in her motions (whose ease always surprised me),
and equally so in her colouring of soft grey and dusky-rose flesh.
Bran grew a puppy again and whipped about after her in great circles
round the meadow. But though he was famous at coursing, and has killed
his hares single-handed, he was never once near Thumbeline. It was a
wonderful sight and made me late for business.

"By degrees she got to be very bold, and taught me boldness too, and
(I am ashamed to say) greater degrees of deceit. She came freely into
the house and played with Florrie up and down stairs; she got on my
knee at meal-times, or evenings when my wife and I were together. Fine
tricks she played me, I must own. She spilled my tea for me, broke
cups and saucers, scattered my Patience cards, caught poor Mary's
knitting wool and rolled it about the room. The cunning little
creature knew that I dared not scold her or make any kind of fuss. She
used to beseech me for forgiveness occasionally when I looked very
glum, and would touch my cheek to make me look at her imploring eyes,
and keep me looking at her till I smiled