"Then I must eat it myself, I suppose, though it do seem a shame to waste such a lovely chop on Ann Angelina Trapes! But, Hermy dear, I just been down to see Mrs. Bowker, an' her little Hazel's very bad—her poor little hip again, an' she's coughin' too, somethin' dreadful."
"Poor little Hazel! Did she ask for me, Ann?"
"Well, my dear, she did, an' Mrs. Bowker did ask if you'd go an' look at her—but I do hate t' disturb ye, that I do!"
"Oh, it's all right, Ann. Tell Mrs. Bowker I'll be right down."
"I will so, but it's a dratted shame as you should shoulder everybody's troubles, that it is."
"Oh, Ann—as though I do! And then how about yourself, dear—what of the Baxters and the Ryders, and Mrs. Tipping's baby and—"
"My land!" cried Mrs. Trapes, "that chop'll be a cinder!" and she hurried away.
"Poor little Hazel," said Hermione, coming to a small corner cupboard. "She's such a dear, quaint little person! You must have seen her on the stairs, Mr. Geoffrey."
"I see so many on the stairs, Miss Hermione, and they are always small and generally quaint."
"Hazel's got a game leg, Geoff," said Spike, "an' she hops around on a little crutch. She told me yesterday she thought you was—I mean were—a fairy prince, because you always bow an' tip your lid to her when she says 'good morning.' So now she waits for you every morning, Geoff—says it makes her feel like she was a real fairy princess in a story-book. Sounds kind o' batty to me, though."