“Boy,” said she, “what a funny window-seat you’ve got! I can see your legs under it.”
“That’s because the window reaches down to the floor, and the bench is fixed across by the transom here.”
“What’s your name?”
“Theophilus; but they call me Taffy.”
“Why?”
“Father says it’s an imperfect example of Grimm’s Law.”
“Oh! Then, I suppose you’re quite the gentleman? My name’s Honoria.”
“Is that your father downstairs?”
“Bless the boy! What age do you take me for? He’s my grandfather. He’s asking your father about his soul. He wants to be saved, and says if he’s not saved before next Lady-day, he’ll know the reason why. What are you doing up there?”
“Reading.”