“It is all nonsense, my pet,” cried Mr. Home.
And Graham once more snatched her aloft, and she again punished him; and while she pulled his lion’s locks, termed him—“The naughtiest, rudest, worst, untruest person that ever was.”
On the morning of Mr. Home’s departure, he and his daughter had some conversation in a window-recess by themselves; I heard part of it.
“Couldn’t I pack my box and go with you, papa?” she whispered earnestly.
He shook his head.
“Should I be a trouble to you?”
“Yes, Polly.”
“Because I am little?”
“Because you are little and tender. It is only great, strong people that should travel. But don’t look sad, my little girl; it breaks my heart. Papa, will soon come back to his Polly.”
“Indeed, indeed, I am not sad, scarcely at all.”