“You are a nursery child, and it’s in the nursery you’ll have your tea,” said Verena in a stern tone. “Go and pick the peas.”
“Not me,” said Penelope.
She sat down just where she was, in an obstinate heap, in the middle of the floor.
“If I are not to eat those peas I don’t pick ’em,” she said. “I wor going to be kind, but I won’t be kind if I’m to be turned into a nursery child.”
“Oh! do let her come to the dining-room just for to-night,” pleaded Pauline.
“Very well, then; just for once,” said Verena.
CHAPTER IV.
THE LIFE OF MISRULE.
Dinner went off better than the girls had expected. But to Miss Tredgold it was, and ever would be, the most awful meal she had eaten in the whole course of her existence. The table was devoid of all those things which she, as a refined lady, considered essential. The beautiful old silver spoons were dirty, and several of them bent almost out of recognition. A like fate had befallen the forks; the knives were rusty, the handles disgracefully dirty; and the tablecloth, of the finest damask, was almost gray in color, and adorned with several large holes. The use of serviettes had been long abolished from The Dales.