"Oo tan't talk," he said patronizingly to her one day, after listening in
futile seriousness to her unintelligible jargon. Forthwith he essayed to
teach her to speak English, and, humoring his every freak, she sought to
profit. She would fix intent eyes upon him and turn her head askew to
listen heedfully while she lisped after his lisping exposition of "Archie
Royston." He grew heady with his sense of erudition. He would fairly roll
on the puncheon floor in the vainglory of his delight when she identified
chair and fire and bed and door by their accurate English names.
Sometimes, in a surge of emotion, hardly gratitude or a sense of comfort,
neither trust nor hope, but the sheer joy of love, the child would come
at her in a tumultuous rush, cast himself in her arms, and cover her face
with kisses--the face that had at first so terrified him, that was so
typical of cruelty and craft and repellent pride. Then as they nestled
together they would repeat in concert--poor woman! perhaps she thought it
a mystic invocation charged with some potent power of prayer or
magic--"Ding-dong-bell!" and the comparative biographies of little Johnny
Green and little Johnny Stout, and the vicissitudes of the poor pussycat
submitted to their diverse ministrations.
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