Chapter Four.
When Poll returned home and showed her empty basket, Jill could not help uttering an exclamation of surprise.
“Why, mother, you han’t brought in no flowers!” she said, “and I made sure you had gone to fetch ’em.”
“Let me set down, Jill. That pain in my side, it do seem to bite orful hard this morning.”
“Oh, poor mother! Set down and never mind the flowers. You shouldn’t have gone out so early, you know you shouldn’t. Here’s a cup of coffee. Drink it, do.”
The little kitchen was a picture of brightness and neatness; the small stove was polished like a looking-glass. Jill placed a coarse white cloth on the table, drew it up to her mother’s side, placed the breakfast cups and saucers in order, laid bread and a piece of salt butter on the board, and, sitting down herself, filled two large breakfast cups with coffee, which was really good and fragrant.
Mrs Robinson drank off a cupful thirstily. She laid it down with a sigh of relief.
“You’re a real good gel, Jill,” she said. “And now I’ll tell you what happened to me.”
“Never mind, mother. You take your breakfast, and set quiet; I’ll go and fetch some flowers myself, as soon as we ha’ done.”
“You can’t, child; there ain’t no money.”