Worse Than A Fence Sieve

Terence remembers something Saint Joseph yelled frequently.

Stop being a fence sieve!

Did it have holes in it? asks Terence.

What? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

The FENCE! says Terence.

I suppose so, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

It was a fence sieve, says Terence.

Alexander-Red-Hook is silent, taking this in.

If it was a fence sieve, what was its function?

It only lets small people in, says Terence. Or animals. Even crabs, if they cross their legs over their bodies.

Or under, says Alexander-Red-Hook, imagining this.

Or out, says Terence.

If it was the afterlife, says Alexander-Red-Hook, no one would get out.

You would if you were small enough to get in, says Terence.

You wouldn't, says Alexander-Red-Hook. There'd be rules about it.

Terence knows all about rules.

I......begins Terence.

She interrupts him.

Anyway, these are  good ideas.

Yes, says Terence. I just remembered the fence sieve.

The concept is useful, says Alexander-Red-Hook. So is the phrase for practical reasons. So many words rhyme with sieve.

 Like give, says Terence. Or div. Hey! It must be my snack time.

He puts his hand up.

But he is on the floor of the bus, where Gaius won't see him.

I'm just getting up on my seat, says Terence.

He clambers up.

There you are, says the bus driver. Don't let me see you down there again.

Terence puts his hand up.

Nothing comes through from the seat behind him.

A bus seat is worse than a fence sieve.