"Now then," she said, "I'm goin' to get the tea ready."
"Can I help you, ma'am?" asked Connie. "Shall I make you some toast, ma'am?"
"Toast?" cried Mrs. Warren. "Toast? Do you think I'd allow yer to spile yer purty face with the fire beatin' on it? Not a bit o' it! You set down there—it's a foine lydy you be, and I ha' to take care of yer."
"But why should yer do that, ma'am? I ain't put into the world to do naught. I ha' always worked 'ard—father wanted me to."
"Eh?" said Mrs. Warren. "But I'm yer father and mother both now, and I don't want yer to."
"Don't yer?" said Connie.
She sank down and folded her hands in her lap.
"I must do summut to whiten them 'ands o' yours," said Mrs. Warren; "and I'm goin' to get yer real purty stockings an' boots to wear. You must look the real lydy—a real lydy wears neat boots and good gloves."
"But I ain't a lydy," said Connie; "an' wots more," she added, "I don't want to be."
"You be a lydy," said Mrs. Warren; "the Halmighty made yer into one."