Mother.—(To Lucy.) What are you reading, my darling child? How sweet you look, lying there, buried in your book.
Lucy.—Yes Mamma, I thought I did. It's the story of a beautiful prince.
M.—Delightful, my dear! The story of a prince—yes, just the story for you to read. (To Mabel.) And you, my poppet, what is it you are doing?
Mabel.—I am thinking, Mamma.
M.—Thinking? Yes, that is just like you. Ah, you were always so clever, my chickabiddy. (To Peggy.) As for you, what are you doing here, plain, stupid girl, wasting the time, when you ought to be doing your work?
Peggy.—I am very sorry, I thought there was nothing to do at this present moment.
M.—Nothing to do indeed! A pretty story! Is all the house-work done?
P.—Everything.
L.—Are the buttons sewn on my long white gloves, for the ball to-night?
P.—Yes, they are.