"My husban's sister. She come up from Kent, and she's a clean, decent body, but I'm pinin' to ketch a sight o' my baby. He be only ten months old."
"Then you've nought to worry over. Look at me. I'm thankin' my luck ev'ry day for my tumble downstairs and my shoulder bein' put out! Why, I'm close on forty, and I've reared and brought up fourteen children, and worked hard at washin' for other folks, and never all those years have I lain abed, and been waited on like this here! I'm a-enjoyin' the rest of it wonderful.
"I've been to Margit on Bank 'Olidays, and to 'Ampstead 'Eath, but you're on the go all day with children a-tuggin' at yer, and havin' to watch yer man lest he got too fond o' his glasses. I never, all the twenty years o' my married life, have laid still and done nothin'. Why, 'tis like a little bit of 'eaven!"
The speaker rested her head back on her pillow with a satisfied sigh.
Peggy looked at her and smiled.
"I s'pose God knewed you wanted a bit o' time to rest yerself, that's why you be here!"
"I don't want no rest," moaned the young wife; "I wants my Jack and my little 'uns! There be Martha a-rummagin' in my boxes and drawers, and puttin' things tidy, as she calls it, and I shan't know a corner when I goes back."
"Don't you fret," said Peggy, with an encouraging nod at her. "'Tis better to tidy a place than to untidy it, and maybe she'll have the place dressed up fine to welcome yer. Don't you go for to make the worst o' things. You jest think o' the nice bits, and leave the nasty ones alone. I means to set my mind to think the very best always. And it do come true.
"I used to dream when I was a girl, afore I ever went to service, or wored caps, that I'd be a servant to real ladies one day, and live in a house with picturs and carpets, and have as much coal on the fire as ever I wanted, and it all comed to pass. And if you makes up to yourself about the day you goes home, it'll cheer you wonderful. May I make it up?"
Without waiting for assent, Peggy went on eagerly, "'Twill be like this. You'll go home in a cab, a-ridin' through the streets like a dook, and your street neighbours will put their heads out o' window to see who it is ridin' up so fine, and then your husban' will lift you out ever so tender, and carry you in, and there 'll be all yer little 'uns with clean faces and shiny hair and best frocks, and Martha will be smilin' too, and the room will be as clean as on a Sunday, and there 'll be a grand tea, watercreases and s'rimps, and maybe a currant cake, and you'll be sat in an easy-chair, and they'll all be waitin' on yer, and yer husband 'll say, 'My girl, we're awful glad to get you back!' He 'll say, 'We never knowed your vally till you were away from us!'"