She got at his meaning, however covert his humour; and he to the core of her heart, through its careless babble.

Between you and me, Reader, I suspect that, in spite of the Comedian's sagacious wrinkles, the one was as much a child as the other.
"Well," said Sophy, "I will tell you, Grandy, what would make it nice: no one would vex and affront you,--we should be all by ourselves; and then, instead of those nasty lamps and those dreadful painted creatures, we could go out and play in the fields and gather daisies; and I could run after butterflies, and when I am tired I should come here, where I am now, any time of the day, and you would tell me stories and pretty verses, and teach me to write a little better than I do now, and make such a wise little woman of me; and if I wore gingham--but it need not be dingy, Grandy--it would be all mine, and you would be all mine too, and we'd keep a bird, and you'd teach it to sing; and oh, would it not be nice!" "But still, Sophy, we should have to live, and we could not live upon daisies and butterflies.

And I can't work now; for the matter of that, I never could work: more shame for me, but so it is.

Merle says the fault is in the stars,--with all my heart.

But the stars will not go to the jail or the workhouse instead of me.