'How Michael spoils you, darling.'
But two kisses in twelve days. He must be ill, I think.
CHAPTER XVIII
It's All Fools' Day. Perhaps that's why the Titmouse elected to get the rheumatics that come from damp attics, so that I had to tell the Stench what 'to be getting on with.'
As I walked round the garden with him I asked if all the seeds were in.
'In, an' coming up by the galore, mum, an' I've given the turnips a dressin' of soot, as it makes a vast difference to 'em on their first appearance through the soil, mum.'
I could well believe it!
'I think you'd better dig the bed in front of the kitchen window then.'
'How deep, mum, two spits?'
I hadn't the foggiest notion how deep that is, but I said,—