"It's all right, Richard, I'm being careful." Polly had let her mending fall, and with each hand held a flaxen-haired child at arm's length. "Johnny, dirty boy! what HAVE you been up to?"
"He played he was a digger and sat down in a pool—I couldn't get him to budge," answered Jerry, and drew his sleeve over his perspiring forehead.
"Oh fy, for shame!"
"Don' care!" said John, unabashed.
"Don' tare!" echoed his roly-poly sister, who existed but as his shadow.
"Don't-care was made to care, don't-care was hung!" quoted Aunt Sarah in her severest copybook tones.
Turning his head in his aunt's direction young John thrust forth a bright pink tongue. Little Emma was not behindhand.
Polly jumped up, dropping her work to the ground. "Johnny, I shall punish you if ever I see you do that again. Now, Ellen shall put you to bed instead of Auntie."—Ellen was Mrs. Hemmerde's eldest, and Polly's first regular maidservant.
"Don' care," repeated Johnny. "Ellen plays pillers."
"Edn pays pidders," said the echo.