"Dan—by—o—ver—beck!" she repeated slowly. "Why, you have an awful long name, Beck, for such a little fellow."
"I am not little, and I will not have you call me Beck: that is no name."
"I forgot all but the last. Don't get nasty, please;" and she patted his arm soothingly. "What does your nurse call you?"
"I am no baby to have a nurse," he said disdainfully.
"You have no nurse? Poor thing! What do you do? who feeds you?"
"I feed myself."
"Where do you live," she asked, looking about curiously, as if she thought he had some kind of a nest near at hand.
"Oh, far away—at the other side of the woods."
"Won't you come and live with me? Do!"
"No indeed, gypsy: I must go home. See, the sun is almost down. You had better go too: your mother will be anxious."