“I'll mend it. It is mended now. See how good I am now,” added he, with self-admiration and a shade of surprise.
“I don't call this mending it, for I am not the one that offended you; mending it is promising me never, never to call naughty names again. How would you like to be called a dog?”
“I'd kill 'em.”
“There, you see—then how can you expect poor nurse to like it?”
“You don't understand, cousin—Tom said to George the groom that Mrs. Jones was an—old—stingy—b—”
“I don't want to hear anything about Tom.”
“He is such a clever fellow, cousin. So I think, if Jones is an old one, those two that keep nagging me must be young ones. What do you think yourself?” asked Reginald, appealing suddenly to her candor.
“And no doubt it was Tom that taught you this other vulgar word 'nagging,'” was the evasive reply.
“No, that was mamma.”
Lucy colored, wheeled quickly, and demanded severely of the terrible infant: “Who is this Tom?”