"I generally am near," returns Mr. Bucket, "being so fond of children. A friend of mine has had nineteen of 'em, ma'am, all by one mother, and she's still as fresh and rosy as the morning. Not so much so as yourself, but, upon my soul, she comes near you! And what do you call these, my darling?" pursues Mr. Bucket, pinching Malta's cheeks. "These are peaches, these are. Bless your heart! And what do you think about father? Do you think father could recommend a second-hand wiolinceller of a good tone for Mr. Bucket's friend, my dear? My name's Bucket. 
"I generally am near," returns Mr. Bucket, "being so fond of children. And what do you call these, my darling?" he pursues, pinching Malta's cheeks. "These are peaches, these are. Bless your heart! And do you think father could recommend a second-hand cello for Mr. Bucket's friend, my dear? My name's Bucket. 