“What,” she asked, turning her soft hand coaxingly in his, “are you going to do to amuse me after dinner?”

“Upon my soul, Polly,” exclaimed Barbox Brothers, very much at a loss, “I have not the slightest idea!”

“Then I tell you what,” said Polly.  “Have you got any cards at your house?”

“Plenty,” said Barbox Brothers in a boastful vein.

“Very well.  Then I’ll build houses, and you shall look at me.  You mustn’t blow, you know.”

“Oh no,” said Barbox Brothers.  “No, no, no.  No blowing.  Blowing’s not fair.”

He flattered himself that he had said this pretty well for an idiotic monster; but the child, instantly perceiving the awkwardness of his attempt to adapt himself to her level, utterly destroyed his hopeful opinion of himself by saying compassionately:  “What a funny man you are!”

Feeling, after this melancholy failure, as if he every minute grew bigger and heavier in person, and weaker in mind, Barbox gave himself up for a bad job.  No giant ever submitted more meekly to be led in triumph by all-conquering Jack than he to be bound in slavery to Polly.

“Do you know any stories?” she asked him.

He was reduced to the humiliating confession:  “No.”

“What a dunce you must be, mustn’t you?” said Polly.

He was reduced to the humiliating confession:  “Yes.”

“Would you like me to teach you a story?  But you must remember it, you know, and be able to tell it right to somebody else afterwards.”

He professed that it would afford him the highest mental gratification to be taught a story, and that he would humbly endeavour to retain it in his mind.  Whereupon Polly, giving her hand a new little turn in his, expressive of settling down for enjoyment, commenced a long romance, of which every relishing clause began with the words:  “So this,” or, “And so this.”  As, “So this boy;” or, “So this fairy;” or, “And so this pie was four yards round, and two yards and a quarter deep.”  The interest of the romance was derived from the intervention of this fairy to punish this boy for having a greedy appetite.  To achieve which purpose, this fairy made this pie, and this boy ate and ate and ate, and his cheeks swelled and swelled and swelled.  There were many tributary circumstances, but the forcible interest culminated in the total consumption of this pie, and the bursting of this boy.  Truly he was a fine sight, Barbox Brothers, with serious attentive face, and ear bent down, much jostled on the pavements of the busy town, but afraid of losing a single incident of the epic, lest he should be examined in it by-and-by, and found deficient.

Thus they arrived at the hotel.  And there he had to say at the bar, and said awkwardly enough; “I have found a little girl!”

The whole establishment turned out to look at the little girl.  Nobody knew her; nobody could make out her name, as she set it forth—­except one chamber-maid, who said it was Constantinople—­which it wasn’t.