“On my what?” she asked, looking at him severely over her paper.
“I mean if you's me,” he hastily explained. “Don't you think blue patches is the mos' nat'ral lookin'?”
“What are you driving at, William?” she asked; but without waiting for his answer she went on with her reading.
The child was silent for a long time, his little mind busy, then he began, “Aunt Minerva?”
She peered at him over her glasses a second, then dropped her eyes to the paper where an interesting article on Foreign Missions held her attention.
“Aunt Minerva, I snagged—Aunt Minerva, I snagged my—my skin, to-day.”
“Let me see the place,” she said absently, her eyes glued to a paragraph describing a cannibal feast.
“I's a-settin' on it right now,” he replied.
Another long silence ensued. Billy resolved to settle the matter.
“I's gettin' sleepy,” he yawned. “Aunt Minerva, I wants to say my prayers and go to bed.”