'I like gardens,' said Robin, 'but I don't like lanes.'
'Why don't you like lanes?' asked Mrs Blossom.
'I know lots of lanes,' he answered. 'There's Rosemary Lane, and it's not nice, nor none of 'em. They ain't nice like Temple Gardens.'
'Rosemary Lane!' repeated Mrs Blossom. 'Why, the lanes in the country are nothing like the lanes in London. They're beautiful roads, with tall trees growing all along 'em, and meeting one another overhead; and there are roses and honeysuckles all about the hedges, and birds singing, and the sun shining. Only you don't know anything about roses, and honeysuckles, and birds.'
'Are there any angels there?' asked Robin, fastening his glistening eyes upon her intently.
'Well, no,' said Mrs Blossom, 'not as I know of.'
'Is the devil in the country?' pursued Robin.
'Yes,' answered Mrs Blossom, 'I suppose he's there pretty much the same as here. Folks can be wicked anywhere, or else my Posy wouldn't have grown up bad.'
Robin asked no more questions, and Mrs Blossom was glad to talk of something else. It was a very happy day altogether, but it came too quickly to an end. Meg wrapped up her children well before turning out into the cold streets, and Mrs Blossom gave them a farewell kiss each, with two to Meg because she was such a comfort to her.
When they reached their own attic they heard Kitty call to them, and Meg opened her door. She was sitting without any fire, stitching away as for her life at a coarse striped shirt, lighted only by a small farthing candle; but she laid down her task for a minute, and raised her thin pale face, and her eyes half blinded with tears and hard work.