“Please, father, take Dickie to see gee-gees,” she repeated in exactly the same tone as at first.
The vicar took up his pen again and made a correction in the last sentence he had written, still keeping one arm round Dickie. But this divided attention did not please her; she stuck out two little straight brown legs and said reflectively:
“Dickie got no yed boots.”
“No, no,” said the vicar with his eyes on his sermon; “Dickie’s got pretty black boots.”
“Andoo’s ’ittle gal got yed boots,” pursued Dickie.
“Andrew’s little girl! Andrew hasn’t got a little girl,” said her father.
For answer Dickie pursed-up her lips, looked up in his face, and began to nod very often and very quickly.
“Where is she, then?” asked the vicar.
Dickie stopped nodding, and, imitating Andrew as well as she could, shook her head mournfully, spread out her hands, and said:
“Lost! lost!”