Thomas. Now that’s what I be trying for to say. There’s no need for you to go and work yourself into the fidgets, Emily, because of little Clara coming back. Home’s home. And ’twon’t be neither the curtains nor the hot dinner as Clara will be thinking of when her steps into th’ old place once more.
Jessie. [Running back with the hot iron which she sets down on the table.] What will Aunt Clara be thinking of then, Dad?
Thomas. [Shy and abashed under a withering glance from Emily who has taken up the iron and is slamming it down on the net.] Her’ll remember, very like, how ’twas when her left—some fourteen year ago. And her’ll have her eyes on Gran’ma’s chair, what’s empty.
Robin. I should be thinking of the hot fowl and sparrow grass what’s for dinner.
Thomas. And her’ll look up to th’ old clock, and different things what’s still in their places. The grand parts where she have been bred up will be forgot. ’Twill be only home as her’ll think on.
Emily. I haven’t patience to listen to such stuff.
Thomas. [After a pause.] I count that ’tisn’t likely as a young woman what’s been left riches as Clara have, would choose to make her home along of such as we for always, like.
Emily. We have perches and plenty of them for barn door poultry, but when it comes to roosting spangled plumes and fancy fowls, no thank you, Thomas, I’m not going to do it.
Robin. Do let us get and roost some fancy fowls, Mother.
Jessie. What are spangled plumes, Mother?