“Yes. There’s a good girl; and if there’s a bit o’ cold pudden, or anything else, let’s have it too. Put it all together in a cloth.”
“Now, mother, I won’t. It’s stealing, and I should feel as if I’d stole it.”
“Oh, what a gal you are, Liza! Why, didn’t I wash and iron and bring home that last napkin, looking white as snow?”
“Yes, but—”
“And so I will this.”
“But you won’t bring back the cold chicken and ham,” retorted Liza.
“Why, how could I, my dear? You know they won’t keep.”
“Well, once for all, mother, I won’t, and there’s an end of it.”
“You’ll break my heart, Liza, ’fore you’ve done,” whimpered the fish-woman. “Think o’ the days and days as I’ve carried you ’bout in this very basket, when I’ve been out gathering mussels or selling fish.”
“Now, don’t talk stuff, mother. You weared out half-a-dozen baskets since then.”