“No. She's not afeared o' yu.”
“I should think not. Why should she be?”
“She zays a prayer for yu.”
“How do you know that, you little rascal?”
“When I was asleep, she said: 'God bless us all, an' Mr. Ashes.' I yeard 'er whisperin'.”
“You're a little ruffian to tell what you hear when you're not meant to hear it!”
The little boy was silent. Then he said aggressively:
“I can skin rabbets. Megan, she can't bear skinnin' 'em. I like blood.”
“Oh! you do; you little monster!”
“What's that?”