"Say on, youngster."
"I think we don't often know or think what is best for us. Mother says little boys don't always know what is best for them. 'Real' is a live thing—ain't it? I used to think, Mr. Daubs, you were a real live ogre once. But now I know you ain't—are you?" This with a pressure of the arms again round John's neck. What could the "real live ogre" say to such an appeal? After a pause: "Mr. Daubs, can I tell you something—may I?"
John assented, wondering what was the next strange thing this curious sprite would ask.
"And will you say 'yes' to what I ask?"
John again assented, though he thought that possibly his assent might necessitate a journey to Timbuctoo.
"Well, I want you to make me—an angel!" And then he quickly added, seeing the startled expression on John's face, "You are so clever!"
"An angel!"
"Yes, an angel. You won't say no?" There was a quiver of anxiety in the boy's tones. "It's for Dodo."
"For Dodo! But, child, I'm not a manufacturer of angels!"
"But you can draw birds. Birds have wings, and so have angels, and it's for Dodo," he again repeated.