'Ah what a pity!' cried Jemima. 'He'll break his heart, when he
hears his mother has been here. He's at school, Polly.'

'Gone already!'

'Yes. He went for the first time yesterday, for fear he should lose
any learning. But it's half-holiday, Polly: if you could only stop
till he comes home - you and Miss Nipper, leastways,' said Jemima,
mindful in good time of the dignity of the black-eyed.

'And how does he look, Jemima, bless him!' faltered Polly.

'Well, really he don't look so bad as you'd suppose,' returned
Jemima.

'Ah!' said Polly, with emotion, 'I knew his legs must be too
short.'

His legs is short,' returned Jemima; 'especially behind; but
they'll get longer, Polly, every day.'

It was a slow, prospective kind of consolation; but the
cheerfulness and good nature with which it was administered, gave it a
value it did not intrinsically possess. After a moment's silence,
Polly asked, in a more sprightly manner:

'And where's Father, Jemima dear?' - for by that patriarchal
appellation, Mr Toodle was generally known in the family.