“Why Claire” ses he, “what are you doing?”
“Papa” ses she, “sumthing told me that he had ritten. I soospected you yisterday. I’ve just been burning the litter. Hereafter papa” ses she, “whin anny more such litters cum, trate thim in the same way—burn thim—burn them—burn them” ses she.
Thin she stared up at him wid her cheeks all red and feverish, and she cryed out suddintly, “Oh papa! papa!” ses she, crowched doon on the harth and sobbed wid her face all ooncuvvered and the teers joost poring down.
“My puir Claire!” ses the auld man brokenly; then he seen me and spoke in a feerce voyce:
“Lave the room Delia!” ses he.
This arfternoon Mrs. Wolley cum down to the kitchen. She’s very figitty and nerviss and she skurce looked me in the face at all.
“Delia” ses she, “yure moonth is oop on the 12th. We’ve decided to let you go.”
I cudn’t spake at all fur the loomp in me mouth. I wint to the sink and foosed aboot wid the dishes.
Mrs. Wolley continued unasily.
“You understand Delia” ses she, “we’ve no complaint to make aboot you. You’re a good cook and excellent in ivery way—but Claire—Claire isn’t very well and we must humour the child. The fack is Delia, the very site of you seems to recall a sartin unplissant person to her mimmry.”