“Bad, naughty Katty,” said Barby, shaking her curls at her, “to keep me away from my mummy. Go ’way, Katty.”
“O Barby!” said Polly gently, and nestling her little girl up to her.
“Oh, what a cunning little thing!” cried Grace in a rapture. “Oh, do let her stay, Mrs. King!” as Polly made signs for Katrina to take her.
“What you in my bed for?” cried King sturdily; “say, and who are you?”
“O King!” said Polly; “why, that isn’t like my boy.”
“Oh, have I taken his bed?” asked Grace in dismay, and making another effort to rise.
Elyot perched at the foot, where he surveyed Grace at his leisure.
“He calls it his because once when he was sick he left the nursery and came in here to sleep,” said Polly. “Now come, children, say good-night to Miss Grace, and then we must fly to bed.” Elyot had one of her hands now; and he clambered up on the bed, where he perched on the foot, and surveyed Grace at his leisure.
“Is that her name because she says grace at the table?” he asked after a pause.