“Arl the way from Chaney, mam.”
“And these beautiful dishes!”
“Chaney, too!” nodded old Penelope proudly. “An’ look at my teapot! I means to tak’ it along wi’ me when they do turn me out, though ’twill be a bit ’ard to carry, I rackon. But ye see, mam, I——”
“Nay, godmother, call me Rose.”
“No, mam, it doan’t come easy to my tongue.”
“I may call you Penelope, mayn’t I?”
“For sure!”
“And fairy godmother?”
“Aye, though I be more witch than fairy, I rackon.”
“Then, godmother Penelope, pray call me Rose.”