"Well, it's going to be—somefin worked."
"Ally, be careful," said Emma.
"Yes, I'll be very tareful; it's somefin—weall pretty—somefin to put in a book. You'll find out about it by and by."
"I think I'm in a fair way to," said the father.
The conversation now digressed to other subjects, and the nurse came in to take Ally to bed; who, as she kissed her father, in the fulness of her heart, added a fresh burst of information. "Papa," said she, in an earnest whisper, "that fin is about so long"—measuring on her fat little arm.
"A fin, Ally? Why, you are not going to give me a fish, are you?"
"I mean that thing," said Ally, speaking the word with great effort, and getting quite red in the face.
"O, that thing; I beg pardon, my lady; that puts another face on the communication," said the father, stroking her head fondly, as he bade her good night.
"The child can talk plainer than she does," said the father, "but we are all so delighted with her little Hottentot dialect, that I don't know but she will keep it up till she is twenty."