Another story was told; and then a song was sung; and so with telling stories and singing songs, Meg tried to comfort and amuse the child.
But at last he said again:
“Oh, Met! why not Doosa tome? I want see Doosa, so bad.” And his little lips began to tremble and his bosom to heave. But he had been taught that it was naughty to cry so he struggled valiantly to keep from doing so. But how could he bear hope deferred any better than his biggers?
His courage at last gave way and he burst out sobbing:
“I want to see Doosa! I want to see Doosa! I want to see Doosa so bad!”
Meg took him up in her arms and began to walk him up and down the room and sing to him; but his heart-breaking sobs arose above her song; and at last in despair she herself burst into tears and dropped down into her chair and hugged him to her heart, sobbing:
“Oh, my pretty, pretty boy, what can Meg do to comfort you? It was such a sin to take you from your mother!”
What a germ of a perfect gentleman little Lenny was!
As soon as he saw that his crying grieved his friend, he stopped short with a gasp or two, and put his arms around her neck, and laid his face to hers, and began to kiss and coax her.
“Don’t ky, Met; Lenny so sorry mate Met ky! Don’t ky, Met! Lenny be dood boy—’deed Lenny will. Let Lenny wipe eye.”