“No, ’twasn’t a haxident,” said Jennie. “’E done it a-purpice.”
“Well, wot if hi did?” retorted Harry. “Didn’t yer pull the tile off me rockin’-’orse?”
“Well, never mind,” said Bradley, seeing how strained things were getting. “Don’t quarrel about it now. It’s all done and gone, and I dare say you were both a little to blame.”
“’Hi war’n’t!” said Harry, and then the subject was dropped. The children romped in and out through the library and halls for some time, and the Bradleys and Perkinses compared notes on various points of interest to both. After a while they again reverted to the subject of their children.
“Does Harry go to school?” asked Bessie.
“No, we think he’s too young yet,” returned Mrs. Bradley. “He learns a little of something every day from Harriet, who is really a very superior girl. She is a good servant. She hasn’t been in this country very long, and is English to the core, as you’ve probably noticed, not only in her way of comporting herself, but in her accent.”
“Yes, I’ve observed it,” said Bessie. “What does she teach him?”
“Oh, she tells him stories that are more or less instructive, and she reads to him. She’s taught him one or two pretty little songs—ballads, you know—too. Harry has a sweet little voice. Harry, dear, won’t you sing that song about Mrs. Henry Hawkins for mamma?”
“Don’t warn’ter,” said Harry. “Hi’m sick o’ that bloomin’ old song.”
“Seems to me I’ve heard it,” said Thaddeus. “As I remember it, Harry, it was very pretty.”