"Molly! Molly!"
"Yes!"
"Come and stir my toffee a minute. I want to run down and look at my cakes."
"Oh, miss," Sarah greeted her with a relieved and beaming smile, "I'm so glad you've come. I'm that afraid they'll burn! And I darsent open the oven door, 'cause you told me not to."
"Don't they look good, Sarah?"
"'Aven't they risen splendid, miss?"
Sarah looked at the little golden cakes admiringly. "You can cook beautiful! Those pitaters you showed me 'ow to do—they were beautiful."
"Oh, potatoes!" She laughed. "They're our national dish, you know. Sarah, is your mother better?"
"Yes, miss, and those books did cheer 'er you wouldn't believe, with all the beautiful pictures of the birds and animals and flowers and trees and reading about 'em; not," honestly, "that she reads all of 'em, her not being a scholard, but there's one or two about the little birds and 'ow they builds their nests and all that that she's just read over and over again, and she does enjoy the pictures—such a one she is for the country ever since she went to Margate for a week on 'er 'oneymoon! And she's that careful with them, miss!"
Nell nodded.