"Ernie kill bad man!" he exclaimed, ferociously, "for trouble
missy. Give Ernie letter--he carry it away and hide it; bad letter--make
poor Mirry cry."
"No, Ernie, I will keep it," I said, as I laid it carefully aside. "It
shall stand as a sign and testimony of treachery to the end. Go to
sleep, little child; but first say your prayers, so that the good angels
may sit by you all night. Don't you hear Mrs. Clayton groaning? Poor
Clayton! I must go and comfort her and soothe her pains, as Dinah cannot
do. And, now that the bad doctor is gone home, and we are all locked up
again securely, we shall rest peacefully, I trust; and so, good-night!"
CHAPTER VII.
From being the most silent of children, a perfect creep-mouse in every
way, Ernie had become fearfully loquacious under my care, and was now as
talkative as he had ever been observant.
The action that most children develop through exercise of limb had been
reserved for his untiring tongue. He had literally learned to talk from
hearing me read aloud, which I did daily, much to Mrs. Clayton's delight
and edification, for the benefit of my own lungs, which suffered from
such confirmed silence, as I had at first indulged in. His exquisite
ear--his prodigious memory--aided him in the acquirement of words, and
even long and difficult sentences, of which he delivered himself
oracularly when engaged with his blocks and dominoes.
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