[Illustration: He had to take a can-opener and cut Aunty Edith's foot
out]

That was the too bad part of it. George was so fine for singing and
telling stories and he just couldn't remember to do anything else.

When he went for the mail and the groceries, unless I went with him,
he'd forget everything, and come home just as smiling as ever.

And he was brave, too, for he used to chase the village boys when they
ran after him and called names, and besides that he and I built a lovely
Filipino house up in the biggest willow tree, and had lots of fun,
escaping from two boys at the farm across Rabbit Run Bridge, who chased
us and tried to catch us. We got up in our tree-house and shot at them
with bows and arrows, and they couldn't reach us. I liked having George.
If he'd only stayed funny, without getting dangerous. But George got
dangerous.

It was this way: George and the two boys on the farm, Samuel and Charlie
Crosscup, were having a talk on the middle of Rabbit Run Bridge, about
fire engines. Samuel said the East Penniwell fire engine could get up
steam and run to a fire, with Sol Achers's old white horse hitched to
her, quicker than a New York fire engine could. George and me said it
couldn't. He said, "It could, because why? The East Penniwell horse and
engine were used to the roads and the New York horses and engine would
have to be showed."

I couldn't think of anything to say, but George said, "No, sah. Dat
ain't noways so. For de New York fire engines and horses is so trained