"That's it, miss, with his music tied up in a brown paper parcel. Sometimes Mr. Dean comes and helps him to write the music."
"Ah!... but I'm sorry he doesn't eat better."
"He eats better when Mr. Dean's here. They has a nice little dinner together. Now he's taken up with that 'ere instrument, the harpy chord, they's making. He's comin' home to-night to finish it; he says he can't get it finished nohow—that they's always something more to do to it."
"I wonder if we could get a nice dinner for him this evening?"
"Well, miss, you see there's no shops to speak of about here. You know that as well as I do."
"I wonder what your cooking is like?"
"I don't know, miss; p'r'aps it wouldn't suit you, but I've been always praised for my cooking."
"I could send for some things; my coachman could fetch them from town."
"Then there's to-morrow to be thought about if you're stopping here. I tell you we don't keep much in the house."
"Is my father coming home to dinner?"