'Muvver, is this all the tea we're going to have?'
Aunt Amelia remarked acidly that she had bad table manners, and inquired if she had begun to learn the catechism.
Here the Gidger said pleasantly, 'I should like to go home now.'
Whereupon Aunt Amelia observed that she seemed as badly brought up as most modern children, and that my blouse was very low, and my neck looked most unsuitable for a Bishop's daughter.
I wonder if my neck is unsuitable, and, if so, isn't the Bishop the one to blame?
'Can you sing a hymn, child?' said my aunt.
'No, but I can say a little piece that Captain Everard taught me.'
'Can you, darling?' I said, rather frightened. I knew some of Captain Everard's 'little pieces.' 'I don't suppose your great-aunt would care for that.'
'But I should like to say it for her,' said the child obligingly. 'It's what a poor man said when he was tired on Sunday.'
At the word 'Sunday' Aunt Amelia thawed a little, so the Poppet recited,—