“What’s this, my dear? playing beside your dead grandmother?”
“Will that make her mad?” queried the child, with an artless glance at Denise.
“No, for she can’t hear you; but you ought to be sorry for her death.”
“Someone told me she wouldn’t whip me again.”
“Didn’t you cry when she died?”
“No, Denise.”
“Oh! I was awful ‘fraid of her!”
“My dear, it isn’t nice not to have any feeling.”
“Oh! if my goat died, Denise, I’d cry hard enough; Jacqueleine’s so good and she loves me so!”