"'Elp yerself!" cried Mrs Gowler, as she threw the plate and spoon upon the bed and thrust the pot beneath Mavis's nose.
"It's coming on," said Mavis.
"You needn't tell me that. I see it in yer face. 'Elp yerself."
"But—"
"I'll talk to you when I've got the dinners. 'Elp yerself."
"What is it?" asked Mavis.
"Lovely boiled mutting. Eat all you can swaller. You can do with it before you've done," admonished the woman.
Six o'clock found Mavis lying face downwards on the bed, her body racked with pain. Mrs Gowler sat impassively on the only chair in the room, while Jill watched her mistress with frightened eyes from a corner. Now and again, when a specially violent pain tormented her body, Mavis would grip the head rail of the bed with her hands, or bite Perigal's ring, which she wore suspended from her neck. Once, when Mrs Gowler was considerate enough to wipe away the beads of sweat, which had gathered on the suffering girl's forehead, Mavis gasped:
"Is it nearly over?"
"What! Over!" laughed Mrs Gowler mirthlessly. "I call that the preliminary canter."