As soon as they came up to the window both children made a low bow, but neither of them spoke.
"Well, what do you want?" said Mr. Robin, as gravely as he could. "Are you going round begging this fine spring morning?"
"Please, sir, we're making a collection," said Audrey.
"Yes, it's a collection," echoed little Stephen.
"What's it for, my little dears?" said Granny Robin, as she laid down her knitting, and began to put her hand into her pocket.
"Mine's for the TWO GRANDCHILDREN WHO DIED YOUNG," said little Stephen.
"And mine's for ALL THAT WAS MORTAL OF JOHN HUTTON," said Audrey.
"Oh, I see," said the old woman; "you want to go and get some roots in the market for your graves—is that it?"
That is it, and Granny Robin's hand must go in the pocket again. It goes in empty, but it comes out well filled. Three pennies for the grandchildren go into Stephen's tin, and three more for John Hutton go rattling to the bottom of Audrey's.
Now it is Mr. Robin's turn, and his pocket seems to be full of pennies too; and the tins make such a noise when they are shaken that Granny Robin pretends to stop her ears, that she may not hear the din.