"But too true!" echoed the bear, whom the bearess called "Nick."
Meg. "Is it really a fact, then, that his thoughts by day and his dreams by night are so taken up with red moccasins that he is in a fair way to make a monkey of himself?"
Nick. "Really a fact."
Meg. "A fact, too, that he had no thanks in his heart for the beautiful moccasins, which his kindest of fathers gave him one night last week?"
Nick. "A fact, too!"
Meg. "A fact, also, that his thoughts are so wrapped up in the moccasins that he has none left for his prayers?"
Nick. "A fact, also!"
Meg. "And, likewise, a fact that he sneaked off, like a spit-thief dog, when his best of mothers had told him and told him, times and times, that he ought not, and he should not?"
Nick. "Like—wise—a—fact!" slowly pulling the words, as if he could hardly find it in his heart to testify to behavior so shabby.