"Is that so? Well, I s'pose I would, if you say so, but I must say I do like a bit of trimmin'," said Mrs. Simpson. "I seen a picksher of a dress in a paper Jim brought home the other day: marone, it was, with a vest an' collar of tartan silk, an' some cawffee lace on it, an' big pearl buttons. My, it did look a treat! You'd think any one comin' from those big shops in Melbun 'ud have lots of dresses that sort. But is she as pretty as all that, really, 'Poss?"
"She's awful pretty," 'Possum said. "Very tall, an' yeller hair, an' blue eyes. An' whatever she puts on seems just like it ought to be."
"Go on!" said Mrs. Simpson, greatly interested. "Fancy, now! An' she's doin' her own work?"
"My word, she is. Inside an' outside, too—an' she's got that place a picksher," said 'Possum. "An' the veg'tables she grows! you'd ought to seen them. Works in the garden like a cart-horse. An' fowls, an' all sorts. They're goin' to make money off that place, you take my word!"
"Lor'!" said Mrs. Simpson. "Jim was sayin' you've been workin' there, 'Poss?"
"I been doin' a bit o' ploughin' an' odd jobs."
"An' they do treat you nice?"
"Couldn't treat me nicer, not if I was a member of Parliament!"
"Go on! Well, that sort is real toffs, an' no mistake! An' what about the kid?"
"He's a darlin'," 'Possum said. "I never seen a boy with such nice manners. Well, you'd hardly believe it, but that boy's seven, an' I ain't seen 'im rude to any one yet!"