“I don’t mind, if you’ll go on talking,” said Selim kindly.
So they took the Ball down into the garden and began to bounce it in the sun, on the dry, yellowy grass of the lawn.
“Come on,” said the Ball. “You do like me!”
“What?” said the children.
“Why, do like I do—bounce!” said the Ball. “That’s right—higher, higher, higher!”
For then and there the two children had begun bouncing as if their feet were india-rubber balls, and you have no idea what a delicious sensation that gives you.
“Higher, higher,” cried the green and red ball, bouncing excitedly. “Now, follow me, higher, higher.” And off it bounced down the blackened gravel of the path, and the children bounced after it, shrieking with delight at the new feeling. They bounced over the wall—all three of them—and the children looked back just in time to see Uncle Thomas tapping at the window, and saying, “Don’t.”
You have not the least idea how glorious it is to feel full of bouncibleness; so that, instead of dragging one foot after the other, as you do when you feel tired or naughty, you bounce
