“And what is that?” I inquires cooryissly
“—er—a sort of pane in the—er—stummick” ses she.
“Is it billy ake yure meening?”
She blushes, and ses:
“I suppose so.”
“Who do be doing the cooking?” I arsks.
“Well—er—I tried. Delia don’t you dare to larf” ses she indignantly.
“Larf!” ses I, “Why Lor bless your hart darlint, I’d more likely be weeping for the unhappy family.”
She leened tords me, Wid her horchure quite gone, and looking as meek and swate as a kitten in thrubble.
“Delia” ses she, “Ive had elivin girls in since you left” ses she.