Ah.
And so Sir—and so—and so uncle Matthew—and so you’d better come out o’ your hole, Abby dear.
After a deal of persuasion, Abby dear began to creep out of her hiding-place, and by little and little to work her way along, now by the split-wood, now by the wall, and now with her back toward the place where the Shape sat holding his breath and afraid to move, lest he should scare away the new-born courage of the little thing.
After a while she got near enough to speak; and holding by her father’s coat all the time, she sidled up to Burroughs, who would not appear to see what she was about, and lifting up her innocent face, articulated just loud enough to reach him—There now.
Well dear—
Off she started, the moment he spoke.
But finding she was not pursued, she stopped a yard or two from his chair, and peeping over the flap of her father’s coat—and seeing that the shape was looking another way—she came a little nearer—stopped—a little nearer still—inch by inch—stopped once more, and looking up at him, as if she knew not whether to run off or stay, said—You be Mr. Burroughs—I know?
He was afraid to speak yet, and afraid to move.
Uncle George—ee.
God bless the babe!