"I thought you were asleep, Prue."
"So I was, mother. Why didn't you let me be?"
"Dreaming of things?"
"Oh, of sech things, mother! I was 'aving a feast of sheep's trotters." Mrs. Flower sighed. "There was a 'ole pile of 'em, and the 'ot pie man was giving pies away. I was just reaching out my 'and for one."
"Never mind, never mind," said Mrs. Flower, rather fretfully. "You talk as if I could get blood out of a stone."
"Do I, mother? I didn't know. I _am_ 'ungry!"
"What's the use of worriting? Didn't I promise you should have some supper? I'm going to ask Mrs. Fry to pay me for the washing when I take it home. I do hope she won't say there's anything missing. She always does; and when I ask her to look over the things again, she sends word she can't till the morning. That's how she puts me off time after time; but I'll be extra particular to-night. Three dozen at one and nine--that's five and three. She don't often give out so much; that's luck for us, Prue."
"I say, mother?"
"Well?"
"D'yer think father'll come 'ome? I 'ope he won't."