A pretty, well-dressed child of six, with dark hair cut short across the brow, a rosy face, a stout pair of legs, left bare by the socks which had slipped down over the dusty little shoes.

One end of a wide sash trailed behind him, a straw hat hung at his back, his right hand firmly grasped a small turtle, and his left a choice collection of sticks.

Before Miss Celia could speak, the stranger calmly announced his mission.
"I have come to see the peacocks." "You shall presently--" began Miss Celia, but got no further, for the child added, coming a step nearer,-- "And the wabbits." "Yes, but first won't you--" "And the curly dog," continued the small voice, as another step brought the resolute young personage nearer.
"There he is." A pause, a long look; then a new demand with the same solemn tone, the same advance.
"I wish to hear the donkey bray." "Certainly, if he will." "And the peacocks scream." "Any thing more, sir ?" Having reached the table by this time, the insatiable infant surveyed its ravaged surface, then pointed a fat little finger at the last cake, left for manners, and said, commandingly,-- "I will have some of that." "Help yourself; and sit upon the step to eat it, while you tell me whose boy you are," said Miss Celia, much amused at his proceedings.
Deliberately putting down his sticks, the child took the cake, and, composing himself upon the step, answered with his rosy mouth full,-- "I am papa's boy.

He makes a paper.

I help him a great deal." "What is his name ?" "Mr.Barlow.