'You are right,' said Jane.
'Thanks be to me for it,' said Winefred.
Her mother looked up.
'You have been out amusing yourself; I cut up the meat and onions and made the pastry.'
'But you would not have done it, nor have been here to enjoy beefsteak pudding if I had not kicked and squealed last night. Listen to me, mother.'
Winefred got on the table and seated herself there, with her feet drawn under her.
'Hearken to what I've got to say. But for me, we, both of us, instead of counting the minutes till the beefsteak pudding is ready for us to eat, would be serving as meals for the fishes. Mother, you are too hasty. Because the rain began to trickle down your back, and your nose was blue, you sought to throw yourself and me into the sea. Now learn a lesson. Don't be hasty again. Winefred and beefsteak pudding for ever! Hurrah!'
'Be serious, child.'
'I am. It is a deadly serious question whether I shall eat or be eaten. I give you fair warning, mother, that is not a question I will have put to me again. I will not go over the cliffs however much rain trickles down your back.'
'You have no love for me.'