"No, no, not me," assented Eddo, shaking his flaxen head.

And there the matter would have ended, if Lucy had not added most
unluckily: "'Twas when you were only a baby that you did it, Eddo. You
said to the engine, 'Come here, little choo choo, Eddo won't hurt oo.'
_You_ didn't know any better."

"_'Course_ I knew better," said Eddo, shaking his head again, but this
time with an air of bewilderment. "_I_ didn't say, 'Come here, little
choo choo.' No, no, not me!"

"Oh, but you did, darling," persisted Lucy. "You were just a tiny bit
of a boy. You stood right on the track, and the engine was coming,
'puff, puff,' and you said, 'Come here, little choo choo, Eddo won't
hurt oo!'"

"I didn't! Oh! Oh! Oh! _When'd_ I say that? _Did_ the engine hurt me?
_Where_ did it hurt me? Say, Jimmum, where did the engine hurt me?"
putting his hand to his throat, to his ears, to his side.

The more he thought of it, the worse he felt; till appalled by the idea
of what he must have suffered he finally fell to sobbing in his mother's
arms, and she soothed his imaginary woes with kisses and cookies. For
the remainder of the journey he was in pretty good spirits and found
much diversion in watching the gambols of the two dogs following the
tallyho. One was a Castle Cliff dog, black and shaggy, named Slam; the
other, yellow and smooth, belonged to the "king-ductor" or driver, and
was called Bang. Slam and Bang often darted off for a race and Eddo
nearly gave them up for lost; but they always came back wagging their
tails and capering about as if to say:--