“Lenny so sleepy! me so sleepy!”
“Well, then, lay on its old grannam breast, and go to sleep, my little angel,” said the old woman, gathering him up to her bosom.
“No, no, no, no! lay on Met lap. Met dit Lenny seep,” he said, wriggling himself away from the crone, and going up to Meg.
What girl does not doat on little children? What girl, under these circumstances, would not have met the baby’s advances with delight?
The poor young daughter of thieves and beggars took the child up in her arms and looked around for a seat.
“Well, then, if you have got to nurse him, I will give you my chair,” said the old woman, rising and throwing herself down upon the bed.
Meg took the seat and arranged the drowsy child comfortably on her lap.
“Wock me! wock me, Met,” said little Lenny.
There were no rockers on the rickety chair, but Meg moved her body backwards and forwards, and so gave the baby the best rocking she could.
“Now sin’ to me, Met.”