_ Pamela doesn't get accustomed--she criticises. If it
weren't for a silly tail here, a stupid face there, her critical faculty
might lie for ever dormant.
_Pamela_ (_having turned over four or five pages with one grasp of the
hand, as if determined to suppress the unsatisfactory horse_). R for
Bunny.
_Her Mother._ No, dear, Rabbit. R for _R_abbit. B for _B_unny.
_Pamela_ (_gently_). No; B is for Dicky. The ugly dicky wiv the blue
mouf.
_Her Father_ (_rashly_). The blackbird.
_Pamela_ (_conscious of superior knowledge_). That isn't its name.
That's what it looks like, all black; but its name is Dicky. B for
Dicky.
_Her Father._ Well, have it your own way. What does S stand for?
_Pamela_ (_turning to the likeness of an elderly quadruped, with great
assurance_). Baa-lamb!
_Her Father._ Sometimes we call baa-lambs sheep.
_Pamela._ I don't.
_Her Father._ You will when you grow older.
_Pamela._ I won't be any older, not for ever so long. Not till next
birfday. (_Pushing her book away and assuming an air of extreme
infancy_) Tired of reading. Want a piggy-back, _please_!
_Her Father_ (_firmly taking up his review again_).
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