Her innocent endearments moved him to tears. "My pretty angel!" he sighed: "my lamb!"
"How your heart beats! Don't cry, dear papa. Nobody is dead: only we thought you were. I'm so glad you are come home alive. Now we can take off this nasty black: I hate it."
"What, 't is for me you wear it, pretty one?"
"Ay. Mamma made us. Poor mamma has been so unhappy. And that reminds me: you are a wicked man, papa. But I love you all one for that. It tis so dull when everybody is good like mamma; and she makes me dreadfully good too; but now you are come back, there will be a little, little wickedness again, it is to be hoped. Aren't you glad you are not dead, and are come home instead? I am."
"I am glad I have seen thee. Come, take my hand, and let us go look at the old place."
"Ay. But you must wait till I get on my new hat and feather."
"Nay, nay; art pretty enough bare-headed."
"O papa! but I must, for decency. You are company now; you know."
"Dull company, sweetheart, thou 'lt find me."
"I don't mean that: I mean, when you were here always, you were only papa; but now you come once in an age, you're company. I won't budge without 'em; so there, now."