"Law! Talk of what you understand. There was your sister Martha. Ah, she was a girl! Such eyes--such skin--such lips!" He smacked his own, in his desire to further aggravate her. "I was real nuts on her; and I'd have had her instead of you, if she hadn't took up with a swell. I hope she's found out her mistake by this time."
"I dare say she has. We all do, whether we're married or not." She turned to Little Prue, who sat dumb during the scene, which presented no features of novelty to her; from her earliest remembrance she had been a witness of such. "I shan't be gone long," she whispered, kissing the child, "and then you shall have some supper."
"Mind you get the money for the washing, and bring it straight home!"--called Mr. Flower after her as she left the room. "Selfish cat!" He slammed the door to. "Never thinks of anyone but herself--never thinks of me! What are you sniveling at?" Prue, now that her mother had gone, began to cry. "Come here; I've got something to say to you. Ain't I your father?"
"Yes, father."
"And a good father?"
"Yes, father."
"And a kind father?"
"Yes, father."
"Very well, then. How old are you?"
"I don't know, father."