The artlessness of the child pleased and soothed him. It was nature speaking.
"If the naughty man was here," continued Pollypod, clenching her little fist, and stamping her little foot, "I'd beat him for making Lily cry."
"Is that Lily?" pointing to the girl.
"Yes, that's Lily, and that's Lily's brother Alfred, and that's Mrs. Gribble, and that's my mother, and that's the baby. And that's Lily's mother in the coffin. Who are you?"
"My name is Felix."
Pollypod pondered upon the name, and presently nodded her head two or three times, to express approval, In proof that she was disposed to treat him fairly in the matter of information, she said,
"My name's Pollypod."
"Polly—"
"Pod. Father's name is Jim Podmore, and I'm his little Pollypod."
Thereupon--confidential and affectionate relations being completely established--she sat down on the tombstone beside him. She put him at once upon on equality with her by asking, in the most serious manner,