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Updated: June 25, 2025
"O, my shole! there's a catty-pillow what he want, you fink?" Kitty winked and Dinah sulked, but there was no reply. The next thing they met was a grasshopper. "O, dee, a gas-papa! Where you s'pose um goin'?" Kitty winked again and Dinah sulked. Flyaway answered her own question. "Diny, dat worm gone see his mamma."
"It's a matter of terminology," said the president sternly. "And it's not the name that makes a thing, but what it does! Actio sequitur esse, as the sayin' goes. You'll not be denyin' that! Now, a diny hangs around a man's house and it eats his food and his tools and it's no sort of good to anybody while it's alive. Is that the action of a lizard? It is not!
They ate their crops, destroyed their homes, devoured their tools, and when other comestibles turned up they'd take care of them, too. This diny surveyed its surroundings. The presidential mansion looked promising. The diny moved toward it. But Timothy nap plans abandoned flung himself at the diny like the crack of a whip. The diny plunged back into its hole. Timothy hurtled after it in pursuit.
In fact, diny teeth, being organic, seemed to be an especially hard form of boron carbide. Dinies could chew iron. They could masticate steel. They could grind up and swallow anything but tool-steel reinforced with diamond chips. The same amateur chemist worked it out that the surface soil of the planet Eire was deficient in iron and ferrous compounds. The dinies needed iron. They got it.
The dinies were not bright. The three committeemen and two members of the cabinet were thigh-deep in water when the boat came back. They still whacked valorously if wearily at intrusive diny heads. They still had made no progress in implanting the idea that the dinies should go away. The men from the mainland hauled them into the boat. They admitted that the president had returned to Tara.
But they weren't really interested. One of them sat down and looked bored. The other sat down. Presently, reflectively, he gnawed at a piece of whitish rock. The gnawing made an excruciating sound. It made one's flesh crawl. The diny dozed off. His teeth had cut distinct, curved grooves in the stone. The manufacturer of precision machinery back on Earth turned pale. "L-let's get out of here!"
A diny popped out of a hole in the turf. He looked interestedly about. He was all of three inches long, with red eyes and a blue tail, and in every proportion he was a miniature of the extinct dinosaurs of Earth. But he was an improved model. The dinies of Eire were fitted by evolution or Satan to plague human settlers.
But it looked exactly like he'd brought over the diny for me to admire, like a cat'll show dead mice to a person she thinks will be interested!" "Holy St. Patrick!" said the solicitor general, appalled. "What'll happen now?"
Then the feeling of desolation swept over her again. She had come to the end of the world, and dinner, and mother, and heaven had all gone off and left her. "O, Diny," sobbed she, turning to her unfeeling dolly for sympathy. "I's free years old, and you's one years old. Don't you want to go to heaven, Diny, and sit in God's lap? What a great big lap he must have!"
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