“He was drawing it for me,” said Olivia.
“Were you going to teach him to embroider it? Little Pilly, was he going to have his little needle, then? And his red and blue silk. Eh? You know, Olivia, I saw little Pilly here, down in the cabin one hit me, playing with some red and blue silk spools. Ah, little Pilly; it’s a shame to tease him. He must have his little dollies, then?”
“You put down that drawing,” said Perrin, snatching at it.
Stukeley held him aside with one hand, dangling the drawing from the other.
“No, no, little Pilly,” he said. “Manners, little boy. Manners before ladies.”
“Don’t, Tom dear,” said Olivia. “Don’t spoil the drawing.”
“That would be a shame,” he answered. “Little Pilly draws so beautifully. Which is the tail, Pilly?” he asked. “Which of these prongy things is the tail?”
Perrin did not answer; but again attempted to snatch the canvas.
“Why don’t you take it, little Pilly?” said Stukeley.
“Damn you, give it,” said Perrin, white with passion. He snatched the canvas from him, smote him a sharp slash across the eyes with it, and flung it overboard.