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"Does you?" said Katie, kindly, "then I'll frow you one;" and she did it from the tips of her clean fingers. "But piggy's velly dirty," said she, wiping her lips on her apron. "Don't they wath him?" said Charlie; "they wath theep." "Um isn't a sheep," returned Katie; "um's a pig." "But your gwampa could wath him." "No, gampa couldn't; gampa's deaf.
"Myra, Myra," repeated the old gentleman; "do you know me? Don't you know me?" He trembled visibly as he stooped and kissed her. The little forehead puckered and wrinkled as the child struggled with memory; then it cleared and the whole face sweetened to a smile. "Gwampa," she said. "Oh, God, I thank thee," murmured Mr. Selfridge, taking her in his arms.
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