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Little Anne clapped her hands and jumped up and down, crying:

“Great A—your aunt! Little A—me! Bouncing B—that’s Babs; look how she jounces herself up and down! There’s no cat in the cupboard who can’t see, though!”

“There’s a Kit in the cupboard, shut up with the mice!” Kit shouted the words on his explosive laugh. “And the great A certainly thinks he’s blind! Say, little Anne, Mother Goose with Anne sauce isn’t half bad!”

“It’s fine!” little Anne approved him. “Though I don’t exactly understand the joke. We’ve so many Annes in Cleavedge that it’s—do you know what? An Anthology. That’s what Peter-two said. Cleavedge is an Anthology. Peter made that joke; it’s a pun; Peter-two likes puns.”

“You don’t know what that means,” said Kit.

“I do! I do, too!” little Anne flatly contradicted him, taking a running leap that landed her sharp little knees on Kit’s legs and made him wince. “An Anthology’s a book with lots of things collected into it, like poetry, or fairy stories, or—oh, things that you can put together in one book. I do know!”