"Why, Quebec, my poppet," says George, following, on invitation, into that department. "And little Malta, too! Come and kiss your Bluffy!"
These young ladies--not supposed to have been actually christened by the names applied to them, though always so called in the family from the places of their birth in barracks--are respectively employed on three-legged stools, the younger (some five or six years old) in learning her letters out of a penny primer, the elder (eight or nine perhaps) in teaching her and sewing with great assiduity. Both hail Mr. George with acclamations as an old friend and after some kissing and romping plant their stools beside him.
"And how's young Woolwich?" says Mr. George.

"Why, Quebec, my poppet," says George, following at her invitation. "And little Malta, too! Come and kiss your Bluffy!"
These young ladies - not actually christened by these names, though always so called, from the places of their birth in barracks - are sitting on stools, the younger (five or six years old) learning her letters out of a penny primer, the elder (eight or nine) teaching her and sewing. Both hail Mr. George as an old friend and after some kissing and romping plant their stools beside him.
"And how's young Woolwich?" says Mr. George.
