Not at all. As you grow up, and more and more strange things happen to you, you will find that the more astonishing a thing is the less it surprises you. (I wonder why this is. Think it over, and write and tell me what you think.)
Selim stood up, and said, “Halloa”; but that was only out of politeness. Thomasina answered the Ball’s question.
“We want to be at the seaside—and no aunts—and none of the things we don’t like—and no uncles, of course,” she said.
“Well,” said the Ball, “if you think you can be good, why not set me bouncing?”
“We’re not allowed in here,” said Thomasina, “because of the crinkly ornaments people give me on my birthdays.”
“Well, the street then,” said the Ball; “the nice shady side.”
“It’s not like respectable children,” said Selim sadly.
The Ball laughed. If you have never heard an india-rubber ball laugh you won’t understand. It’s the sort of quicker, quicker, quicker, softer, softer, softer chuckle of a bounce that it gives when it’s settling down when you’re tired of bouncing it.
“The garden, then,” it said.
