"Oh, any one can get the love of children who is kind to them," said Adelaide. "You know you are a very kind man, Edgar," in a quiet, matter-of-fact way. "All animals and children love you. It is a gift you have, but it is only because you are kind."
The context stood without any need of an interpreter to make it evident.
"But I am sure that Leam is kind to Fina," blundered Josephine.
"And the child dislikes her so much?" was Adelaide's reply, made in the form of an interrogation and with arched eyebrows.
"Fina is like the discontented little squirrel who was never happy," said Josephine, patting the plump little hand that still meandered through the depths of Edgar's beard.
"I am happy with you, Missy Joseph," pouted Fina; "and you," to Edgar, whom she again lifted up her face to kiss, kisses and sweeties being her twin circumstances of Paradise.
"And with sister Leam: say 'With Leam,' else I will not kiss you," said Edgar, holding her off.
She struggled, half laughing, half minded to cry. "I want to kiss you," she cried.
"Say 'With Leam,' and then I will," said Edgar.
The child's face flushed a deeper crimson, her struggles became more earnest, more vicious, and her laugh lost itself in the puckered preface of tears.