"I want to see countries," and she stretched out her slender arms, "I
want to fly away outside the park and see the world."

"You have time," said the old man.

"When I am big enough I shall run away--I get very tired of only the
Aunts La Sarthe. They never understand a word I say." "What do you say?"

"I want to say all sorts of things, but if it isn't what they have heard
a hundred times before, they look shocked and pained."

"You must come and say them to me then, perhaps I might understand, and
in any case I should not be shocked or pained."

"They remind me of the Three Gray Sisters, although there are only two
of them--one eye and one tooth between them."

"I see--there is something we can talk about at all events," said the
old man. "The Three Gray Sisters are friends of yours--are they?"

"Not friends!" Haley one exclaimed emphatically. "I can't bear them,
silly old things nodding there, with their ridiculous answers to
Perseus, saying old things were better than new--and their day better
than his--I should have thrown their eye into the sea if I had been he.
Do all old people do that?--pretend their time was the best?--do you? I
don't mean to."

"You are right. It is a bad habit."

"But are they better, the old things?"