Again Polly put down her embroidery. She took the book. "Plough!" said she.
"Plough?" echoed Jinny vaguely, and turned a pair of soft, cow-like brown eyes on the blowflies sitting sticky and sleepy round the walls of the room. "Wait a jiff ... lemme think! Plough? Oh, yes, I know. P-l...."
"P-l-o" prompted Polly, the speller coming to a full stop.
"P-l-o-w!" shot out Jinny, in triumph.
"Not QUITE right," said Polly. "It's g-h, Jinny: p-l-o-u-g-h."
"Oh, that's what I meant. I knew it right enough."
"Well, now, trough!"
"Trough?" repeated Jinny, in the same slow, vacant way.
"Trough? Wait, lemme think a minute. T-r-o...."
Polly's lips all but formed the "u," to prevent the "f" she felt impending. "I'm afraid you'll have to take it again, Jinny dear," she said reluctantly, as nothing further was forthcoming.