“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!”
“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.”