'I'm going shopping in the village,' George's mother said to George on Saturday morning. 'So be a good boy and don't get up to mischief.'
This was a silly thing to say to a small boy at any time. It immediately made him wonder what sort of mischief he might get up to.
'And don't forget to give Grandma her medicine at eleven o'clock,' the mother said. Then out she went, closing the back door behind her.
Grandma, who was dozing in her chair by the window, opened one wicked little eye and said, 'Now you heard what your mother said, George. Don't forget my medicine.'
'No, Grandma,' George said.
'And just try to behave yourself for once while she's away.'
'Yes, Grandma,' George said.
George was bored to tears. He didn't have a brother or a sister. His father was a farmer and the farm they lived on was miles away from anywhere, so there were never any chlidren to play with. He was tired of straring at pigs and hens and cows and sheep. He was especially tired of having to live in the same house as that grizzly old grunion of a Grandma.