"Yes, I know. Jim knows a boy what went here wunst. He said yer never licked the boys; and he said, when the 'nifty' little girls come to git in, with their white aprons, yer said there warn't no room; but when the dirty chaps with tored close come, yer said yer'd make room. Jim said as how yer'd never show me the door, sure." (Bless Jim's heart!) "P'raps I can't come every day, yer know, 'cos I might have fits."
"Fits! Good gracious, child! What makes you think that?"
"Oh, I has 'em" (composedly). "I kicks the footboard clean off when I has 'em bad, all along o' my losin' them three year! Why, yer got an orgind, hain't yer? Where's the handle fur to make it go? Couldn't I blow it for yer?"
"It's a piano, not an organ; it doesn't need blowing."
"Oh, yes, I see one in a s'loon; I seen such an orful pretty lady play on one. She give her silk dress a swish to one side, so! and then she cocked her head over sideways like a bird, and then her hands, all jinglin' over with rings, went a-whizzin' up and down them black and white teeth just like sixty!"
"You know, Patsy, I can't bear to have my little Kindergarten boys stand around the saloon doors; it isn't a good place, and if you want to be good men you must learn to be good little boys first, don't you see?"
"Well, I wanted some kind of fun. I seen a cirkis wunst,—that was fun! I seen it through a hole; it takes four bits to git inside the tent, and me and another feller found a big hole and went halveys on it. First he give a peek, and then I give a peek, and he was bigger'n me, and he took orful long peeks, he did, 'nd when it come my turn the ladies had just allers jumped through the hoops, or the horses was gone out; 'nd bimeby he said mebbe we might give the hole a stretch and make it a little mite bigger, it wouldn't do no harm, 'nd I'd better cut it, 'cos his fingers was lame; 'nd I just cutted it a little mite, 'n' a cop come up behind and h'isted us and I never seen no more cirkis; but I went to Sunday-school wunst, and it warn't so much fun as the cirkis!"
I thought I would not begin moral lectures at once, but seize a more opportune time to compare the relative claims of Sunday-school and circus.
"You've got things fixed up mighty handy here, haven't yer? It's most as good as Woodward's Gardens,—fishes—'nd c'nary birds—'nd flowers—'nd pictures—is there stories to any of 'em?"
"Stories to every single one, Patsy! We've just turned that corner by the little girl feeding chickens, and to-morrow we shall begin on that splendid dog by the window."