"Baggerley, not Beggarley," I corrected him.
"But I would like to call you Beggarley, 'cause then you'd be called something the same as me. Mayn't I?"
A suspicious tremble in his voice warned me to give way, unless I was prepared for another outcry from that healthy little pair of lungs. The tears were evidently still near the surface. I therefore weakly yielded.
"Very well, dear," I replied in a resigned voice; and Chris, brightening at once, continued his conversation.
"I'm seven years of age. How old are you?" he next remarked, regarding me with interest.
"Too old to tell my age," I replied evasively.
"As old as my Granny?"
"I don't think so."
"Then how old?"
"Chris, you shouldn't ask so many questions," I said, with a touch of severity.