"How would you like to live here at the White Farm, deary?" asked Miss Vilda.
"O, yet. I yike to live here if Timfy doin' to live here too. I yike oo, I yike Samfy, I yike Dabe, I yike white tat 'n' white tow 'n' white bossy 'n' my boofely desses 'n' my boofely dolly 'n' er day hen 'n' I yikes evelybuddy!"
"But you'd stay here like a nice little girl if Timothy had to go away, wouldn't you?"
"No, I won't tay like nite ittle dirl if Timfy do 'way. If Timfy do 'way, I do too. I's Timfy's dirl."
"But you're too little to go away with Timothy."
"Ven I ky an keam an kick an hold my bwef—I s'ow you how!"
"No, you needn't show me how," said Vilda hastily. "Who do you love best, deary, Samanthy or me?"
"I yuv Timfy bet. Lemme twy rit-man-poor-man-bedder-man-fief on your buckalins, pease."
"Then you'll stay here and be my little girl, will you?"
"Yet, I tay here an' be Timfy's ittle dirl. Now oo p'ay by your own seff ittle while, Mit Vildy, pease, coz I dot to det down an find Samfy an' put my dolly to bed coz she's defful seepy."