"We're living in 'Charity,' Goodsoul. And I've observed that, look out of window when I will, there's always a yellow headed Jones-let ascending to us by the easy road you've fixed. Belinda, the small, is apt to lead the way. She likes it up here. She likes it very much."
"Hmm, that's what the mother be's sayin'. But is that any reason at all, avick, why they should be let?"
"Mrs. Jones thinks it is. She feels that we are flattered by the preference her offspring show for our society; but between ourselves, Cleena, I think it's more raisin-bread than affection. You made a dire mistake in beginning to feed them."
"An' isn't it I that knows it? Now, this baby—"
"Yes, that baby. What's happened to him? He's spotted white and black, like a coach-dog. What's he licking from his fingers?"
"It's spoilin' the bakin' o' bread is he the day. Takin' the coals from the bucket, each by each, an' pressin' them deep in that beautiful dough. Will I wash his face, eh? Never a wash I wash, but home to his mother he goes the same as he is. If the sight does not shame her, I'd know."
"I'll take him, Cleena, and I'll bring back the milk for the day."
So with her pail in one hand and the other guiding the still uncertain steps of William Gladstone, Amy started.
"It's a pity, Sir William, it really is a pity that you ever learned how to climb. You've progressed so alarmingly. First time you tried it you could only stumble and fall backward. Now—you hitch along famously. Heigho! here's Victoria. All the high personages of Merrie England are honoring us 'the day.' Well, Victoria Regina, what's the errand now?"
"Nothing, only thought I'd tell you about that old Quaker man you like."