Suddenly another idea struck auntie.
"How did you manage to tell the old man in the shop what you wanted to buy?" she said.
Baby considered.
"Him sawed the pitty little girl," he said; "her was looking at the shiny glasses—always—her was keeping them for him. Him asked her to. Then him touched them; him climbed up on a chair in the shop and touched them, and then him showed all him's pennies to the old man; but the lady wif the baby knowed the best what him wanted. Her were very nice, but the pitty little girl were the goodest, weren't her?"
Auntie listened quietly, for Baby spoke quite gravely.
"It would be nice to have that pretty picture, wouldn't it, Baby?"
"Yes," said Baby; but he didn't look quite pleased. "Auntie," he said, "him doesn't like you to call her a pitcher. Him thinks her's a zeal little girl, a zeal fairy little girl. Her tookened care of the shiny glasses so nice for him, didn't her?"
And auntie smiled again.