“And then you’ll give it to the pig,” said David.
“Oh yes, to be sure. You will grow into a pig yourself if you go on that way, David.”
However, David, partaking the family distrust of Hal’s birds-in-the-bush, and being started on the subject of the hoard, ran up to Sam, who was learning his lessons by way of something to do, and said, “If you go to London, Sam, may I have your sixpence on Monday for the pig?”
“I don’t know that I am going.”
“But if you do—or we sha’n’t get the pig.”
“I don’t care.”
“Don’t you care if we don’t get the pig?”
“No. Be off with you.”
David next betook himself to his eldest sister, who was trying to write to her father, and finding such a letter harder and sadder work than that to Ida Greville, though no one teased her about writing, blots, or spelling.
“If you go to London, Susie,” said he, in the very same words, “may I have your sixpence on Monday for the pig?”