Nancy was deeply engaged in painting a picture in the Pilgrim’s Progress; she paused a moment to survey the effect of Apollyon in delicate sea-green, and said rather absently:
“Of course I will. And so will Ambrose and so will Pennie.”
“No, but I want you partickerlerlery to do it,” said David, bungling dreadfully over the long word in his anxiety—“you more than the others.”
“All right,” said Nancy with her head critically on one side.
“I want you to promise three things,” went on David—“to keep his gate shut, and to give him acorns, and not to let Dickie poke a stick at him.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll promise,” said Nancy readily.
“Truly and faithfully?” continued David, edging still closer up to her; “you won’t forget?”
“No, I really won’t,” said Nancy with an impatient jerk of her elbow; “don’t you worry me any more about it.”
“I took care of your dormouse when you went,” continued David, “and didn’t forget it once. So you ought to take care of my pig, it’s only fair.”
“Well, don’t I tell you I’m going to?” said Nancy, laying down her paint-brush with an air of desperation. “I sha’n’t do it a bit more for your asking so often. Do leave off.”