Amos (passing it rather reluctantly). Won’t you sit down?
Pauline (seating herself). What a sweet little face! How old was she?
Amos. Eight, I believe!
Pauline. What beautiful wavy hair! And so long! But what a narrow ribbon she had on top!
Amos. Yes, little girls didn’t have more ribbon than hair in those days. She had fine eyes, too.
Pauline. Yes, and has yet. But what a queer little dress, with its plaited trimmings, and a lace bib! And the sash is wide enough to make up for the hair ribbon, I’m sure. Oh, do give it to me!
Amos (taking it hastily). Certainly not. It’s a keep-sake. And now, my young lady, you will oblige me by forgetting that you have seen it.
Pauline. Oh, I couldn’t forget it, it’s so quaint and dear!
Amos. I don’t see as it is so quaint. A dainty little girl, in a very pretty frock, I think. Much prettier than little girls wear nowadays. Please forget it.
Pauline. You shouldn’t use slang, Mr. Hill.