The Storyteller, by Saki,

Read by Mike Bennett.

It was a hot afternoon, and the railway carriage was correspondingly sultry and the next

stop was at Templecombe, nearly an hour ahead. The occupants of the carriage were a small girl and a smaller girl and a small boy.

An aunt belonging to the children occupied one corner seat and the further corner seat on the opposite side was occupied by a bachelor

who was a stranger to their party. But the small girls and the small boy emphatically occupied

the compartment.

Both the aunt and the children were conversational in a limited, persistent way, reminding one

of the attentions of a housefly that refused to be discouraged.

Most of the aunt's remarks seemed to begin with

don't, and nearly all of the children's remarks began with,

why?

The bachelor said nothing out loud.

Don't, Cyril, don't! exclaimed the aunt as the small boy began smacking the cushions of the seat, producing a cloud of dust at each blow.

Come and look out of the window, she added.

The child moved reluctantly to the window.

Why are those sheep being driven out of that field? he asked.

I expect they're being driven to another field where there is more grass, said the aunt weekly. but there is lots of grass in that field protested

the boy there's nothing else but grass there aren't there's lots of grass in

that field or lots of grass in that field.

Perhaps the grass in the other field is better, suggested the aunt fatuously.

Why is it better? came the swift inevitable question.

...