But Dolly gave a sudden joyful skip.
“Shall we have a dear little weeney-teeney cottage like Mrs. Meredith’s, all covered with ivy and things?” she said.
At that Phyl lost her apprehension and skipped too. The dwelling of Mrs. Meredith, a naval officer’s widow, was like a tiny fairy house to them.
“How lovely!” she said, “and no servants; [52] ]Mrs. Meredith has only a little girl. Oh, let me have whitening the steps for my work, mummie darling?”
“I’ll wash the floors,” Dolly cried joyously.
Weenie clambered higher on her mother’s knee.
“She isn’t to do them all, is she, mama?—le’s wash some, won’t you?”
Mrs. Conway kissed her and set her down.
“We shall be far poorer than Mrs. Meredith,” she said, “but don’t worry, darlings—mother will see you don’t quite starve.”
She went to bed that Sunday night comforted in some strange way by the uncrushable spirits of childhood.