"Oh, hush! look at these pretty pictures; here's Moses in the bull-rushes."
A momentary glance, and then the cries redoubled.
"Phoebus, what lungs!" ejaculated Mr. Dutton. "Come here, child," authoritatively, holding up a lump of sugar.
A slight lull, and a hesitating zig-zag movement in his direction. He made a grab as she came within reach, placed her on his knee, and pushed a bit of sugar into the month opened for a roar.
"I am quite ashamed of you, making such a noise. Don't choke, there's more sugar in the basin. Wipe your eyes, and see if you can possibly look pretty."
Bewildered, but distracted by the sugar, the tears ceased.
"What is your name? Mary, I suppose."
"No, no," indignantly, "H'Emma."
"H'Emma! You little cad, what is the H for? Say Emma. You can't? Then no more sugar."
"Emma," repeated the astonished child.