"My dear Charry! to such men Monday is just like all other days; and washing is—well, of course, a necessity, but it is done by fairies, or it might be, for all they know about it."
"There's five meals anyhow," Charity went on.—"Wouldn't it be a good plan to get uncle Tim to be here?"
"What for?"
"Why, we haven't a man in the house."
"What then?"
"Who'll talk to him?"
"Mrs. Barclay will take care of that. You, Charity dear, see to your pickles."
"I don't know what you mean," said Charity fretfully. "What are we going to have for dinner, Sunday? I could fricassee a pair of chickens."
"No, Charity, you couldn't. Sunday is Sunday, just as much with Mr.
Dillwyn here."
"Dillwyn!" said Madge. "I've heard you speak of him."