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"'Ess go to sleep, Nina tired," she said at last, and folding his arms about her, Richard held her to his bosom as if she had been his own. "'Tain't time to say p'ayers, is it?" she asked, fearing lest she should omit her duty; and when Richard inquired what her prayers were, she answered, "Now I lay me and God bess Uncle 'Ick. Mam-ma tell me that."
"P'eae, Uncle 'Ick, let Nina tome. She's all dressed up so nice." That little girl had crept way down into Richard's heart, just as she did into every body's, and he admitted her at once, suffering her to climb up beside him, where, with her fat, dimpled hands folded together, she sat talking to him in her sweet baby language,
"It is Arabic," he said; "a bad patois, I own. I learned it in Barbary, when I was a prisoner among the Moors. In anno 1609, bin ick aldus ghekledt gheghaen. Ha! you doubt me: look at me well. At least I am like " Perhaps some of my readers remember a paper of which the figure of a man carrying a barrel formed the initial letter, and which I copied from an old spoon now in my possession.
Along the stem of the spoon are written the words: "Anno 1609, Bin ick aldus ghekledt gheghaen" "In the year 1609 I went thus clad." * This refers to an illustrated edition of the work. Was not poor Cervantes also a captive amongst the Moors? Did not Fielding, and Goldsmith, and Smollett, too, die at the chain as well as poor Hood?
Well, Christian, now sing us a Low-German song." "I know but one song," said Christian, hesitatingly. "It is the spinning-song which my Frederica sang to me in the spinning-room." "Well, sing your spinning-song," said Blucher, looking at his pipe, which was going out. Christian cleared his throat, and sang: Spinn doch, spinn doch, min lutt lewes Dochting, Ick schenk Di ock'n poor hubsche Schoh!
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