It Was The Pathos

And did I converse with the Poet? asks Ageless.

O yes, says Kobo. You rose from the silent black water.

Gurgling water, says Ageless.

Please yourself, says Kobo. You squeezed yourself under the gate. You and the Poet took a turn round the dark leafy garden, conversing.

He mentioned the jigsaw. He said he hoped that the family dog would not wave its tail over the pieces, and knock them off the table.

Did he tell me who won the tennis? asks Ageless.

Would you have wanted to know? asks Kobo.

It is always best to know who won the tennis, says Ageless.

He didn't, says Kobo. And that was because of the murder.

Oh you know about that do you, says Ageless.

The whole family knew, says Kobo.

Not immediately, says Ageless.

Not till the next afternoon, says Kobo. By that time the flies and the ants had got to it.

It wasn't me, says Ageless. It was the Poet. His stone boots crushed the bird's tiny bones. It was dying in any case.

So you say, says Kobo.

I was there, says Ageless. Rabbie Burns did the gentlemanly thing.

Killed it, says Kobo.

I hate this story, says Lavender.

Courage!, says Ageless. You'll like the next part.

What is the next part? asks Kobo.

(An error. Ageless regains control of the story)

The Poet was thoughtful, says Ageless. He looked down at his boot. Blue feathers were stuck to it.

Blue ones, says Lavender. That's really sad.

He scraped them off, says Ageless.

Lavender looks disgusted. That was not what was sad. It was the pathos.

Poor wee birdie, says Rabbie. Still thou art blest compared wi' me.

How did he figure that out? asks Kobo.

I know, says Lavender. Because the birdie hadn't killed anyone.

Not that, says Ageless. Because only the present touched him.

That's horrid! says Lavender. The present was a haggis. Did the dead bird look like squashed haggis?

Lavender! says Kobo. What an imagination! Ageless, what did the Poet say?

Ageless scowls:

Still thou art blest compared wi' me!
The present only touches thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e'e
On prospects drear!
And forward, tho' I cannot see
I guess and fear.

If I was that bird, says Lavender, I would stick to his boot for EVER.

Spare the Poet, Lavender, says Kobo. Ageless has hopelessly buggered up the story.