“Now, missy dear, it’s jokin’ you must be wi’ me. Haven’t the little eggs to be sold to get in the money? Didn’t I go round every day an’ sell the eggs to the neighbours, an’ bring in the money for me poor grandad and grandma. Oh me, wurra, wurra, it’s a quare wurrald!”
“Look here, Peggy. Suppose I bring up something for you to-night, and you have it all alone with me?”
Peggy raised large and terrified eyes. “Why, surely, for the Lord’s sake, ye ain’t goin’ to ate again at this hour?”
“Of course we are, we haven’t had dinner yet.”
“Dinner! dinner! what’s the hour? Why, it’s past siven!”
“Yes, we don’t dine till close on eight.”
“Ah well, I can’t do it. I’m accustomed to me big male about twelve o’clock ov the day, an’ a good drink of buttermilk and some brown loaf at six in the evenin’, then me bed and sound slape, an’ glory be to God! Miss dear, you’ll niver manage the likes o’ me in yer grand house.”
“Peggy, aren’t you fond of your father?”
“Sure then I be.”
“Well, he has sent you to my father, for him to care for you. Won’t you try and do what your father and my father would like?”