“No indeed, Laurens,” cried the mother turning around to get his new pants and brush away a tear.
“Mamma, the gardener said my old pants were holy. What did he mean?”
“He meant you had worn holes in them, Laurens?”
“What did the Sunday-school teacher mean when she said the war we are going to celebrate today was a holy war? Did she mean we had worn holes in it? Worn it out?”
“No,” laughed Mamma, “she meant it was a war to make the English give us our own things just as you would fight if a dog should try to eat up your dinner.”
“O mamma, I would give poor doggy my dinner if he were hungry,” said Laurens, with tears in his eyes.
“Yes, I know you would, my darling, but if you were hungry and he would not let you have any, what then?”
“I would pet and coax him, mamma, until he let me have some.”
Mrs. Cornwallis gave up the argument and hugged and kissed her boy to her heart’s content. But Laurens did not give it up so easily. When she was fastening his ruffled shirt front with her beautiful sapphire buttons which were a part of his father’s wedding gift, he touched her on the forehead and said:
“Please tell me, mamma, what kind of animals the English are? Bridget calls them ‘Johnny Bulls.’ Do they look like our bulls?”