"Where is her mother?" asked Aaron.
"At the Jolly Sailor Boy, enjying of 'erself."
"Ah! And where is your aunt?"
"At the Jolly Sailor Boy, too, 'aving a 'arf-quartern. There's been a reg'lar row there about Mrs. Macrory's flannin peddicut."
"What happened to it?"
"It went wrong. Yes, it did. Yer needn't larf. Call me a story, do! I would if I was you!"
"No, no, Prissy," said Aaron, in a soothing tone. "How did the flannel petticoat go wrong?"
"Nobody knowed at fust. Aunty does Mrs. Macrory's washing, and a lot more besides, and the things gits mixed sometimes. Aunty can't 'elp that--'ow can she? So Mrs. Macrory's things was took 'ome without the peddicut. Mrs. Macrory she meets aunty at the Jolly Sailor Boy, and she begins to kick up about it. 'Where's my flannin peddicut?' she ses. ''Ow should I know?' ses aunty. Then wot d'yer think? Mrs. Macrory sees somethink sticking out of aunty's dress be'ind, and she pulls at it. 'Why,' she ses, 'you've got it on!' That's wot the row was about. Aunty didn't know 'ow it come on 'er--she's ready to take 'er oath on that. Ain't it rum?"
"Very rum. Put out the fire, Prissy. It is time for all good people to get to bed."
In the performance of this duty Prissy was compelled to remove her hand from her face, and when she rose from the floor it was seen that her right eye was sadly discoloured, and that she was in pain.