[p12]
“Do you mean Mrs. Grant, my uncle’s housekeeper?”
“Yes, that very lady—only, you see, I like to call her Peggy.”
“Yes,” returned the child, supposing she ought to say something.
“’Tis a farm, you know—jolly old place. Do you know that?”
“Yes—that is, I know ’tis a farm; mamma told me that. But I didn’t know ’twas jolly; mamma said ’twas very pretty, and home-like, and nice.”
“Ah, yes! just a lady’s view of the place,” nodded the boy approvingly. “The farm is the best part of it all, and so you’ll say when——”
“Perhaps we’ll not talk about it,” broke in “little friend” timidly.
“Well, you are a precise little lady not to talk about a farm, your uncle’s farm, behind its back,” laughed the boy.
“It’s mamma’s uncle,” corrected the little maiden.
“Ah, yes! and your great uncle. Well, I thought he was an old fogey to be your uncle—I beg your pardon—old gentleman I mean.” He [p13] laughed and made a low bow, but his cheeks took a rosier tint at that real slip of his tongue.