“I can’t help it, Liza. I wonder half the fisher-lads in port arn’t half mad after you.”
“Now, mother, be quiet; you’ll have Miss Margreet hear!”
“Nay, she’ll be down-stairs with the company, won’t she? Yes, Liza, you do grow more and more hansum every day.”
“Then you oughtn’t to tell me so, mother. It’ll only make me prouder than I am. Now, what do you want again? This is four times you’ve been here this week.”
“Is it, my clear? Well, you see, I’ve got some of them big mussels as you’re so fond on, and I brought you a few to cook for your supper.”
“It’s very good of you. Well, there: give them to me, and do please go.”
“Yes, my dear, there you are. That’s right. Haven’t got a bit o’ cold meat, and a bit o’ bread you could give me, have you, Liza?”
“No, I haven’t, mother; and you ought to be ashamed to ask.”
“So I am, my dear, almost. But you have got some, or half a chicken and some ham.”
“Chicken! Oh, the idea!”