some more milk then, Sunshine."

"It isn't milk! it's sack," said the child, promptly, holding out
her small yellow mug with a royal air. "Are the capons good, Grumio?"

"They are, my lamb, they are," replied the Captain. "Oncommon good
they are, to be sure, and me not knowin' to this day what capons was.
A little more? Yes, Pigeon Pie, I _will_ take a little more, thank
ye kindly."

"I don't _think_, Grumio, that you ought to call me lambs and pigeon
pies just now," remarked the Princess, judiciously. "Do you think
it's respectful? they don't in Shakespeare, I'm sure."

"I won't do it again, Honey--I mean Madam;" said the Captain, bowing
with great humility. "I beg your honourable majesty's pardon, and
I won't never presume to--"

"Yes, you will!" cried the Princess, flinging herself across the table
at him, and nearly choking him with the sudden violence of her
embrace. "You shall call me pigeon pie, and anything else you like.
You shall call me rye porridge, though I hate it, and it's always
full of lumps. And don't ever look that way again; it _kills_ me!"

The Captain quietly removed the clinging arms, and kissed them, and
set the half-weeping child back in her place. "There, there, there!"
he said, soothingly. "What a little tempest it is!"

"Say 'delicate Ariel,'" sobbed Star. "You haven't said it to-day,
and you always say it when you love me."