"I fee-er naw faw in shee-ining arr-mor, Though his lance be sharrrp and-er keen; But I fee-er, I fee-er the glah-mour Therough thy der-rooping lashes seen: I fee-er, I fee-er the glah-mour...." Sam flung open the door wrathfully.
She bobbed her head. "Yes, sir," she called in reply; "Petunia and I were looking at it." "Sho! Well, what do you and-er What's-her-name think of it?" Barbara pondered. "We think it's very nice," she announced, after a moment. "Don't you like it, Mr. Winslow?" "Eh? Oh, yes, I like it, I guess. I ain't really had time to look at it to-day; been too busy." The child nodded, sympathetically.