“Well, then, lie down, and I’ll sing.”
Daisy gave a little chuckle of delight.
“Oh, Hughie, I do love you!” she said. “Now lie down by me and put your head on the pillow, same as if you were going to sleep. Oh, I told everybody—nurse, mummy, and everybody—that you would come. And they said you wouldn’t, and I said, ‘Oh, stuff!’”
“That wasn’t polite,” said Hugh.
“Well, they weren’t p’lite. Yes, put your head right down, like that. I’m afraid you’re too long for my bed, but it doesn’t matter. Oh, isn’t it comfortable? It was awful sitting up. You needn’t sing much you know, if you’re tired.”
“Thank you,” said Hugh.
“Now you’re horrid again. Oh, no, Hughie, you’re not! But I think being tired makes me cross.”
“And what’s it to be?” asked Hugh.
This roused Daisy again; her point was gained and her Hughie was going to sing, but at this she became an epicure.
“Oh, please, the—the ‘Shepherd’s Song’! Just the last verse. Because I don’t think I should be awake if you sing it all, and I like the last best.”