Miles rested passive, one arm thrown perfunctorily about Master Hopkins's neck, and wished he were anywhere else.
CHAPTER IX
MASTER HOPKINS'S GUEST
"'In Wakefield there lives a jolly pinder,
In Wakefield all on a green,
In Wakefield all on a green,—'
THERE, there, Damaris! Hushaby, hushaby! Go to sleep, like a good lass."
Damaris gurgled at Miles with a provokingly wide-awake crow. "I never saw such a bad baby," sighed the little boy. "Do go to sleep, honey.
'In Wakefield there lives a jolly pinder,—'"
"Oh, Miles," laughed Constance Hopkins, who, standing at the rude table, was scouring the biggest kettle, "you have sung that half a score of times. Is there no other song you know?"
"It is no time for the child to sleep now," interrupted Mistress Hopkins. "I'll wrap her up, and, since 'tis so mild a morning, you may take her forth into the air."