Mrs Frisby looked up with an attempt at a smile as they came in.
“I am glad to see you are better,” she said. “Maybe you’ll be able to go to work after all.”
But Jim shook his head with a despondent air.
“No use expectin’ too much,” he remarked, quoting one of his wife’s favourite speeches; then, as she stared, “I’ll jist see to the little uns an’ help ye a bit with the cleanin’ if I don’t find it knocks me up too much.”
Mrs Frisby finished her breakfast in silence, and Jim, after disposing of his meal, turned his attention to the children.
“Now then, let’s see how useful you can make yourselves. See, I’ll carry the things over to the sink, and Rosie can wash ’em up, and Jack here can dry them.”
“Ye’ll have ’em smashed to atoms,” said Sally sulkily.
“Not a bit of it; they’re a deal more in danger of getting smashed lying about, as they generally do, half the morning.”
He superintended the carrying out of both operations, and then desired the children to wash their hands and smooth their hair before going to school.
“Dear!” he exclaimed, as he clumsily tied a pinafore string. “All your things do seem in terr’ble need of mendin’. I tell ye what, Sally, while you do a bit o’ cleanin’ up I’ll see if I can’t make shift to sew on a button or two.”