“Yes, Miss.”
“Then where do you sit?”
“In the choir, Miss; the end next to Squire Ammaby’s big pew.”
“Do you?” said Amabel. She had been threatened with Bogy for misbehavior in church, and it was startling to find that he sat so near. She changed the subject, under a hasty remembrance of having once made a face at the parson through a hole in the bombazine curtains.
“Why don’t you paint with paints, Bogy?” said she.
“I haven’t got none, Miss,” said Jan.
“I’ve got a paint-box,” said Amabel. “And, if you like, I’ll give it to you, Bogy.”
The color rushed to Jan’s face.
“Oh, thank you, Miss!” he cried.
“You must dip the paints in water, you know, and rub them on a plate; and don’t let them lie in a puddle,” said Amabel, who loved to dictate.