“Did she come?”
“Yes.”
“Wot’s she like?”
“Oh, a rale little bit of a thing, not as big as Lizer!
“And, Peter, she hes teeny little hands, as wite as snow, like that woman in the picter ma got off of the tea.”
“Yes, Peter,” chimed in another voice; “and her feet are that little that she don’t make no nise wen she walks.”
“It ain’t only becos her feet are little, but cos she’s got them beautiful shoes like wot’s in picters,” said another.
“Her hair is tied with two great junks of ribbing, one up on her head an’ another near the bottom; better than that bit er red ribbing wot Lizer keeps in the box agin the time she might go to town some day.”
“Yes,” said the voice of Mrs M’Swat, “her hair is near to her knees, and a plait as thick as yer arm; and wen she writ a couple of letters in a minute, you could scarce see her hand move it was that wonderful quick; and she uses them big words wot you couldn’t understand without bein’ eddicated.”
“She has tree brooches, and a necktie better than your best one wots you keeps to go seeing Susie Duffy in,” and Lizer giggled slyly.