“And you wouldn’t let Sam have it?”
“No—an’ mi mower says, Dun gie ’t ’im’—’n ’e bite me.”
“What will your father say?”
“Me Dad?”
“’E’d nobbut laugh,” put in the mother, “an’ say as a bite’s bett’r’n a kiss.”
“Brute!” said Leslie feelingly.
“No, but ’e never laid a finger on ’em—nor me neither. But ’e’s not like another man—niver tells yer nowt. He’s more a stranger to me this day than ’e wor th’ day I first set eyes on ’im.”
“Where was that?” asked Lettie.
“When I wor a lass at th’ ’All—an’ ’im a new man come—fair a gentleman, an’ a, an’ a! An even now can read an’ talk like a gentleman—but ’e tells me nothing—Oh no—what am I in ’is eyes but a sludge bump?—’e’s above me, ’e is, an’ above ’is own childer. God a-mercy, ’e ’ll be in in a minute. Come on ’ere!”
She hustled the children to bed, swept the litter into a corner, and began to lay the table. The cloth was spotless, and she put him a silver spoon in the saucer.