"My dear Matabel," she said, "I've had a trying time of it, with the house full, and only Polly to look to for everything. Will you believe me—on Sunday I said I would give the gentlemen a little plum-pudding. I mixed it myself, and told Polly to boil it, whilst I went to church. Of course, I supposed she would do it properly, but with those kind of people one must take nothing for granted."
"Did she spoil the pudding, mother?"
"Oh, no—the pudding was all right."
"Then what harm was done?"
"She spoiled my best nightcap."
"How so?"
"Boiled the puddin' in it, because she couldn't find a bag. I'll never get it proper white again, nor the frills starched and made up. And there is the canary bird, too."
"What of that, mother?"
"My dear, I told Polly to clean out the cage."
"And did she not do it?"