"Mamma say I may dive Whitefoot drass," lisped the child, not yet having learned to articulate the letter g. "Whitefoot not bite me, no."
"Whitefoot is a good donkey. He never bites," answered Herbert, decidedly. "Now, Winnie, you must keep hold of my hand, and not run away as you do at the farm. I sha'n't have time to chase after you as Nancy does."
"I'm doin' to be dood dirl, Bertie, mamma say so. Winnie not doin' to make mamma cry any more."
"Here we are; and there's papa on the hill. See all the men and the oxen!"
Winnie laughed, and clapped her hands.
They drove along till they came to the tree where Bertie sometimes tied his donkey, and then he carefully lifted his sister to the ground.
"Wait a minute," he said, "and I'll lead you to the big cellar."
But the little girl couldn't stand still. She was as full of life as a squirrel; and, when once upon her feet, ran to pull some grass for Whitefoot.