“Something spakes to us, Nancy,” said Pete. “'Deed it does, though.”
The child gurgled and purred, and for all her fine headgear she was absorbed in her bare toes.
“And there's yourself, Pete—going to Peel and to Douglas, and I don't know where—and you've never once thought of the lil one—and knowing we were for shortening her, too.”
Pete cast down his head and looked ashamed.
“Well, no—of coorse—I never have—that's truth enough,” he faltered.
VII.
Pete went out to buy a sheet of notepaper and an envelope, a pen, and a postage stamp. He had abundance of all theso at home, but that did not serve his turn. Going to as many shops as might be, he dropped hints everywhere of the purpose to which his purchases were to be put. Finally, he went to the barber's in the market-place and said, “Will you write an address for me, Jonaique?”
“Coorse I will,” said the barber, sweeping a hand of velvet over one cheek of the postman, who was in the chair, leaving the other cheek in lather while he took up the pen.
“Mistress Peter Quilliam, care of Master Joseph Quilliam, Esquire, Scotland Road, Liverpool” dictated Pete.