It was the same with Mrs Twit's walking-stick. It was all
so slow and gradual that she didn't notice how long it
was getting even when it was halfway up to her
shoulder.
'That stick's too long for you,' Mr Twit said to her one
day.
'Why so it is!' Mrs Twit said, looking at the stick. 'I've
had a feeling there was something wrong but I couldn't
for the life of me think what it was.'
'There's something wrong all right,' Mr Twit said,
beginning to enjoy himself.
'Whatcan have happened?' Mrs Twit said, staring at
her old walking-stick. 'It must suddenly have grown
longer.'
'Don't be a fool!' Mr Twit said. 'How can a walking-stick
possibly grow longer? It's made of dead wood, isn't it?
Dead wood can't grow.'
'Then what on earth has happened?' cried Mrs Twit.
'It's not the stick, it'syou !' said Mr Twit, grinning
horribly. 'It'syou that's gettingshorter ! I've been noticing
it for some time now.'
'That's not true!' cried Mrs Twit.