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And for a long time neither one of them could find Alice. “I’m going to call out loud, and perhaps she’ll hear me,” said Bully. “She probably wandered off on the wrong path coming from Grandfather Goosey Gander’s house.” So he cried as loudly as he could: “Alice! Alice! Where are you, Alice?”
“Alice home?” exclaimed Mrs. Wibblewobble. “Why, didn’t she come from Grandfather Goosey Gander’s house with you?” “No, she started on ahead, some time ago,” said Lulu. “She said she wanted to put on her new hair ribbon for dinner. She ought to have been here some time ago. Are you sure she isn’t here?” “No, she isn’t,” answered Jimmie. “She must be lost in the fog!” “Oh, dear!
But when he heard my unvarnished account of the gander’s death, he did not say one single unkind word to me, but scolded most severely the two boys who had led me into the scrape. The geese belonged to a farmer named John Hey, whose son Ralph used to provide me with birds’ eggs. Ever after when I passed by his house, some of the children would point to me and say, ‘Yaw killed aur guise.’
“I guess I won’t forget it again in a hurry,” thought Bully as he hopped along with his books in a strap over his shoulder. “C-a-t spells—” And just then he heard a funny noise in the bushes, and he stopped short, as Grandfather Goosey Gander’s clock did, when Jimmy Wibblewobble poured molasses in it.
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