If you left a cake near him he ate all the currants out of it.' ...

My little boy, my little, _little_ boy! I don't know why I should cry.

We had him for twenty years.

Stir the fire, will you, Pamela, and put on a log--I don't like it when it gets dull.

Old people need a blaze even when the sun is outside." "You mustn't say you are old," Pamela said, as she threw on a log and swept the hearth, shading her eyes, smarting with tears, from the blaze.
"You must stay with Augusta for a long time.