Here!" he said, holding out
his hand awkwardly, "I brought them for you."
There were a few green blades of tender grass.
"Where did you find them?"
"On the dam wall."
She fastened them beside the leaf on her blue pinafore.
"They look nice there," said the boy, awkwardly rubbing his great hands and
watching her.
"Yes; but the pinafore spoils it all; it is not pretty."
He looked at it closely.
"Yes, the squares are ugly; but it looks nice upon you--beautiful."
He now stood silent before them, his great hands hanging loosely at either
side.
"Some one has come today," he mumbled out suddenly, when the idea struck
him.
"Who?" asked both girls.
"An Englishman on foot."
"What does he look like?" asked Em.
"I did not notice; but he has a very large nose," said the boy slowly. "He
asked the way to the house."
"Didn't he tell you his name?"
"Yes--Bonaparte Blenkins."
"Bonaparte!" said Em, "why that is like the reel Hottentot Hans plays on
the violin--
'Bonaparte, Bonaparte, my wife is sick;
In the middle of the week, but Sundays not,
I give her rice and beans for soup'--
It is a funny name."
"There was a living man called Bonaparte once," said she of the great eyes.
"Ah yes, I know," said Em--"the poor prophet whom the lions ate. I am
always so sorry for him.
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