As a matter of course, little Polly had “a good cry,” making several damp places on the new linen; and then, with a sob, she wished herself safe back at her old aunt’s in the Welsh mountains, where she was poor, but happy and free as the goats.
“I’d go to-morrow if I could,” she sobbed, and then the needle hand fell upon the stiff, hard work, and she closed her wet eyes till a faint smile came across her face like a little ray of sunshine; and she whispered softly to herself, as if it were a great secret, “No, I don’t think I would.”
Mrs Jenkles’s Morning Call.
“Been waiting, old lady?” said Sam Jenkles, throwing open the apron of the cab as he reached his wife’s side.
“Not a minute, Sam; but why weren’t you driving? Is he restive?”
“Restive!” said Sam; “I only wish he was. I’d give ’arf a sovrin’ to see ’im bolt.”
“And suppose I was in the cab!” said Mrs Jenkles.
“There, don’t you be alarmed. Jump in. Ratty wouldn’t run away with you inside, my dear—nor any one else.”
Sam rattled the apron down, hopped on to his perch, chirruped to Ratty, and, for a wonder, he went decently out on to Pentonville Hill, past the Angel, along Upper Street, and round by the Cock at Highbury.